


Intra-Hearts: Prologue | Intrahuman

by DeathByMidnightCinderella (DeathByOtome)



Series: Intra-Hearts [1]
Category: Midnight Cinderella (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bullying, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Polyamory, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-28 13:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 121,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11418852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathByOtome/pseuds/DeathByMidnightCinderella
Summary: They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.“We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”So, why did things change, and how?Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.





	1. Part I | Sid | Loyalty - 16th January 2014 | 14 | Year 10

**Author's Note:**

> The lengths of these parts are appropriate as to the nature of each part, and so some are shorter than others, while some are significantly longer. This is the prelude to the main story. The dates in these parts refer to the day when the boys realised they loved you, but this is not always the day the story starts on.
> 
> Main Perspective: Unfocused perspective, mainly second person, “You” / Reader, and third person, “He” for the boys. Do not read if you have issue with intermittent changes of perspective (it’s only when appropriate, and is not marked, so as to preserve the flow of the story).

**♡** **♔** **♡**

“And, release! Okay, guys. You’ve got fifteen minutes until the end of the lesson and you’ve all worked really hard today, so just do whatever you want, alright? Either do some exercises yourself, keep playing badminton or use the trampoline.”

“Yes, Miss.”

The students around you disperse, going off to do whatever activity they want to do. You stand next to Sid, stretching your arms and neck. He smirks down at you, in the same winter P.E. outfit you’re in, watching you rid yourself of tension. “Nice work. You’re not the fastest, but you’re damn good at dodging.”

You roll your eyes playfully, punching him in the shoulder lightly. “Oh, shut it. You’re fast, but you’re pretty awful at dodging. Right back at you.” He drops a hand on your hair, yanking out the accessory holding your hair up in a pony. You mock an offended gasp, reaching out to take it back. “Oi! Give it!”

He snorts. “Only if you work for it, shortie.”

You huff, jumping up when he holds it above his head. With him so tall, you have no chance of reaching it, worsened further by his long arms. You can hear the sighs of the other boys behind you, and the laughs of Nico and Leo.

“Sid, must you always tease her so?” Giles asks, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. You bite your tongue, grabbing onto Sid’s arm and leaping up in another failed attempt. He doesn’t even have to move, merely smirking away at your efforts.

“It’s not a case of ‘must’ so much as ‘do’, Giles.” He laughs, seeing you trying to drag his arm down to you, but he pulls back and thwarts your plan. “Nice try.”

Cheeks puffing out in irritation, you stop for a moment, pausing in making the face to breathe.

_Hm… I could always take an alternative route._

You smirk yourself now. Darting forward, you slip around him and spin on your heels, launching yourself up his back and locking an arm around his neck. He stumbles forward, giving you enough time and an ample opportunity to snatch it out of his hand. You shout in victory, hopping back and jumping away from him. He whirls around in confusion, eyes wide. You stick your tongue out very briefly, putting the accessory back. “Nice try.”

His eyes almost swirl with amusement and a fire so intense that it could burn. You return the grin he gives you, seeing Giles shaking his head with a smile, Leo and Nico grinning as well, and the rest of the boys either smiling or watching on mutely.

Your attention is swiftly pulled away, however.

“Look at her. She’s got them all under her spell, but she hasn’t got anything interesting about her. I can do better.”

A female voice behind you, maybe thirteen feet away, speaks in a hushed tone, but your sensitive ears pick up her words clearly. Your grin fades, eyes moving to the side just slightly, head following. Your eyes narrow, auditory sense straining to hear more.

“What are you going to do?” Another voice giggles out. There’s a scoff.

“Make them realise that every other girl in this school is a thousand times more interesting than her, obviously. Watch and learn.”

_Hmph._

You send the boys a warning look.

_How petty. It’s almost sad._

You hear her footsteps approach you from behind, and you tense yourself, having had this done to you a good few times. When the girl’s shoulder knocks with yours, you barely move, and instead she’s thrown off-balance slightly, more so than you. When she whips around, eyes blazing and face ridden with disgust, you raise an eyebrow. “Watch where you’re going.”

She scowls, emerald eyes blazing, seeming to brighten her already fiery hair. “Excuse me? How about you move out of the way and stop being a stuck-up teacher’s pet? You’re not impressing anyone. Stop being so pathetic.”

_Ouch. She’s definitely going to cause trouble._

You merely smile, not letting her see any pain she’s caused you. “Well, considering that I was completely stationary and there’s a whole gym around you that you could have used to walk over here, I think it’s you that’s acting a bit stuck-up. And I hope you realise that paying attention and respecting your teachers doesn’t make you a teacher’s pet – quite literally, it simply makes you exactly what you should be as a student. Just because you’re lacking in that ability doesn’t mean I’m odd one out.”

You can see the rage building in her. She lets out a sharp breath, snapping, “You’re an attention whore, and that’s it. You sit here acting like you’ve got all the power, when you’ve probably just screwed everyone into liking you.”

Now, your expression shifts. Your eyes turn hostile, gaze turning freezing in a second. An aura of danger rolls from you, body readying itself for a fight immediately. At the same time, you hear the sounds of the boys shifting, at least four of them moving to stand close behind you. Aubrey glances at them, expression betraying momentary shock. You can feel the glares burning over you at her.

Feeling more confident, your response comes easily, words sharp and blunt and intended to cut her deeply.

“‘You’re an attention whore’, says the one who just came over here to deliberately start a fight, and gain the attention of my friends for the mere purpose of wanting to in some way detriment me. Right. I hope you realise that I would never do something like that; I’ll work for what I have, and I’ll gain friends through effort, not something as pathetic having sex with them to make them do it. I have far too much self respect to even consider it.”

You raise an eyebrow. You decide to slip this in to ensure your victory in the argument. “Plus, I would say that what you said is most likely a deflection of self-loathing, considering the things I’ve heard about you and a good amount of the people in our year, not to mention those in the year above. Trust me when I say that we are nothing alike. Do yourself a favour and leave. Stop trying to pick fights with people and just have some decency.”

Sid speaks now, voice low and deadly serious. He’s scowling, mild disgust and strong irritation clear as day in his eyes. “Just saying, it was pretty obvious that you wanted to talk to us to distract us from ___. That’s pretty sad in itself, and shows what kind of person you are. Get out of here.”

She gapes, looking shocked to the core to have been scolded by one of the boys she was planning to steal away. “Wha-”

“To be frank, Miss Linett, you are immoral and rather cruel. You should bear in mind that Leo and myself work for the student council, and are the vice-president and president respectively, so we hear much of what goes on with students in our year. You’ve frequently been implicated in bullying, manipulation of students and have been unnecessarily cruel to other pupils to get your own way, and it has not gone unnoticed.”

Giles intervenes, shooting out insult after insult at the now flustered and clearly upset girl. Leo takes no notice of this and nods, chipping in as well.

“And as for us all bring friends with ___, you need to learn to understand that not all friendships are based on sex appeal. We’re friends with her because she’s a moral person, she’s kind, she cares for the people around her, she’s intelligent, funny, and because she cares about our personalities, not what we look like. If you can get past your vanity and simple-minded expectations, you'll see that our friendship is a hell of a lot simpler than a lot of others, not excluding yours.” He rattles out calmly, a small smile on his face, but you can see the anger simmering in his eyes.

The other boys nod to his words, making sounds of agreement. Albert raises an eyebrow. “I would suggest leaving, before you cause more embarrassment to yourself. I would also recommend that you consider our words and use them to better your ways, since at the moment, you are doing very little to gain anything for yourself.”

You can see that she’s tearing up now, and that the fury has exploded in her. She lets out a cry of frustration, storming back toward the gym door. On her way, though, she moves so that the teacher can’t see her, stalking toward you. You internally sigh.

_Here we go. Another fight…_

Her hand shoots out, fingers curling into your P.E. jacket. She yanks you forward, leaving inches of space between your faces. You force back the surge of fear in you, simply staring back at her calmly. You see Sid, Leo, Alyn, Albert, Nico and Giles dart forward from behind you, but you raise a hand swiftly, indicating to them to stop. They do, albeit looking entirely ready to destroy her if she hurts you.

She sees this and scowls even deeper, hissing out, “You’re fucking lying. Shit like that doesn’t work. I won’t believe it. They bow down to your every word and movement and it’s wrong.”

You manage a shrug, responding quietly but honestly. “None of us are lying. It’s your choice to not believe us, but it’ll only restrict you if you keep thinking that way. We are what we are. We’ve never lied about it, and we are simply friends. It’s up to you to let yourself see that it’s possible.”

Something close to pain flashes across her expression, ghosting though her eyes. It goes quickly, though, replaced instead by hatred. “Enjoy it while it lasts, bitch.”

Then, she lets go, shoving past you. You remain completely still, listening as she stalks to the door, leaving the lesson entirely. Her friends run after her quickly, and the gym is left in silence for a few seconds. The other students have been watching and listening, you notice, and now one of the other girls shakes her head.

“I can’t believe she just did that, ___. What’s so hard to get? You’re all friends. She’s such a bitch. She called you an attention whore, but you’re not remotely one. She is. I hate the girl.” That earns a good amount of nods from around the gym, other students agreeing with her statement. Some grumble to themselves instead, muttering insults about the girl. The one who spoke continues more softly now. “Are you okay?”

You sigh, nodding. “I’m fine. She was just trying to scare me, and it didn’t work.” You give her a slightly strained smile, crossing your arms habitually. “Thanks. I’m glad you believe us and understand where we’re coming from.”

She beams, nodding fiercely. “No problem! I’ve literally got a problem with not understanding where you guys are coming from. I mean, it doesn’t matter who people are friends with; some groups have all guys with one girl, some have all girls with one guys, some with two to eight ratios or three to nine ratios. It doesn’t matter. It’s just being friends. Geez.”

“What just happened? Did someone just leave?” The voice of Miss Dupont, the female P.E. teacher, cuts through your conversation, drawing your attention to her. She approaches with the male one at her side, and he looks just as confused, as well as concerned. You nod.

“Yeah. Aubrey Linett. She tried to pick a fight with me, got upset and left.” You answer, sighing again. The female teacher rubs her face, shaking her head.

“That girl wants nothing but trouble, I swear.” She looks you over quickly. “She didn’t hurt you, did she? She’s got a history of lashing out at people, and has done quite a bit of damage when she has.”

You shake your own head. “No. She grabbed my jacket but that was the extent of it. I’m fine.”

She sighs with relief. “Good. I’ll go and find her.” She glances at the male P.E. teacher, Mr. Summers. “Can you watch them for a bit?”

He nods. “Yep. Leave it to me. We’ve only got maybe twelve minutes left anyway, so I’ll be fine.” She nods back, going off to find Aubrey. The rest of the class settles and the students go back to what they were doing.

Now, the boys practically swarm you, moving in closely and creating a protective barrier around you. Giles and Leo dash in close, looking you over and starting to interrogate you immediately.

“Are you alright? She definitely didn’t hurt you?” Giles questions, placing his fingers under your chin very lightly and tipping your head back to check your neck. You nod as much as you can without blocking his view.

“Yeah, I’m sure. She just got my jacket, so she didn’t do any harm. Don’t worry about it.” You assure him. Leo heaves out a breath.

“She’s only gotten worse over the years. She used to just fight with people physically, but now she’s becoming more complex with how she’s handling the people she’s got problems with. She’s been turning people against each other lately, and she’s been called out for it by the teachers, but they can’t exactly do much and it isn’t stopping her.” He explains, peering down at you as well in search of injuries.

When Giles pulls back, satisfied, Leo places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “We’ll try to avoid her from now on, okay?”

Your head drifts up and down. “Yeah. Hopefully she’ll get bored and move on to someone she actually stands a chance against, at which point the teachers will hopefully stop her.”

He makes a sound of agreement, removing his hand.

It’s at this point that Sid comes up to your side, asking, “Hey. What did she say before she left? It was too quiet for us to hear.”

He looks unsettled, you notice, eyes snapping around the room with a suspicious glint. You tilt your head. “She said, ‘Enjoy it while it lasts, bitch.’ Why?”

He grunts. “I don’t trust her. Be careful; don’t walk around on your own. I know you can hold your own, but I’ve heard of how she fights. She plays dirty and she’s dangerous.” He meets your gaze, something you’ve never seen before dominating his whole body. You can’t quite place what it is. “I’ll walk with you between most of your lessons, since they’re en route to mine. Walk with the others if I can’t go with you for now.”

Why is he saying all this? This is one girl, not a group of them all personally out to get you. He’s acting like she’s threatened your life. “I don’t really think that’s necessary, Sid. She won’t-”

“She beat a girl to the point of being close to death a couple of years back, ___.” His abrupt words silence you entirely. Shock rolls through your body, mind becoming quiet with surprise at the nature of them. “That was when she was eleven. She’s even more dangerous now. I hear a lot about her when I’m getting info for people, and I’ve never heard anything I’ve liked. Just do it, will you?”

_Sid…_

You can see that he’s worried. Something in your chest aches just a little, noticing the stress lining his face. This isn’t normal for him.

You reach up, touching his arm very lightly. You’ll do it, because you know he’s completely serious about this, and seemingly knows a lot more about her than you do. “Okay. I’ll work out who I can walk with.”

He exhales quietly. “Good.”

**♡♔♡**

Several days pass quietly. Sid escorts you to and from lessons for the most part, and then when he’s not able to, Leo, Alyn or Giles do, because you share the most lessons with them or they have the easiest timetables to make it work.

It’s Friday when you’re walking from Romanian with Sid to lunch, making your way down the corridor in a comfortable silence. It’s now that you spot a poster at the end of the hallway, pinned to the wall. You squint, wondering what it is. “What’s that poster for?”

Sid’s gaze hones in on it, and he peers at it, trying to see. “Don’t know. C’mon.”

You both go over to it, reading its contents.

As soon as you are able to read it, you freeze in place, spine locking rigidly. Dread surges through you.

There’s a blurred picture of you and your dad, from when you were out several days ago in town. It looks like it was taken from the corner of a building, but it’s good enough to be able to make the two of you out. An “X” has been scribbled over you both, and there are words surrounding the picture.

 

**“___ _____ and her father are ICAC scum. Take them down.”**

 

Your blood runs cold. The fear you feel, for yourself, your father _and_ your mother is so strong, you can barely think.

The ICAC (Institution for Criminal Activity Control) is essentially one of Wysteria’s intelligence agencies, and works to deal with criminal activity on a more serious, usually covert level than the normal police in Wysteria. They deal with both small-scale criminal issues like stalking and abuse, all the way up to criminal organisations, and basically act as a sweep to rid Wysteria of crime, leaving the police to deal with mostly lesser crimes and smaller threats.

They recruit those in particular who have been affected by these crimes, usually to prevent them from taking it into their own hands; they’d recruit someone they think would be likely to try to do this and monitor them, then train them up to be able to be an “agent”, to prevent them from going rogue and pursuing the criminals themselves. It stops normal civilians from falling into the cross-fire of criminal activity, and helps those who’ve suffered by it to deal with its effects in a healthier, more controlled way.

However, just like the police, the ICAC aren’t liked by some people, namely nobility with ties to the underworld (criminal sector of society), illegal activity under their belts, or less-than-legal arrangements for their companies. This also goes for people who aren’t fond of the likes of the police, since the ICAC are a hybrid police force in essence, and those who aren’t fond of the authorities in general.

Your father is an ICAC agent, but no one in the whole school should know that. He's given you training to defend yourself as a result of being an agent, since it puts you at higher risk, but this should also most definitely not be known.

“Fuckers. What the hell?” Sid growls. He rips the poster down, scrunching it up and giving it to you. “Give that to your dad when you get home. He should know about this.”

You nod mutely. For all you’re able to defend yourself and are confident in your skills of fighting, you were never prepared for the feeling of being targeted by someone so openly and obviously. It’s petrifying.

You take the paper, putting it in your bag mutely. Observing your fear, Sid turns to face you, placing both of his hands on your cheeks. Despite no one being in the corridor, you worry that someone will see, and your heart starts to pound away in your chest. Your cheeks would normally be flushed by now, but the colour has drained from them, leaving them bloodless.

“Hey.” He murmurs lowly. “You’re going to be fine, ___. You and your dad will be okay. They’re probably just trying to freak you out.” The soothing tone of his voice, and the confidence he speaks with, settles you slightly, and you nod slowly. He releases your face to take your hand, tugging you down the hallway. “Come on. We’ll go and see if any others are around, then take them down.”

Needing his reassurance, you walk closely to him, tightening your hold on his hand. “Okay.”

Through the next fifteen minutes, you make a lap around everywhere on campus, successfully finding seventeen more posters. You scrunch them all up and put them in your bag, so that you can dispose of them at home rather than here, where they could still be found.

When you both return to the canteen and sit down with the others, explaining the situation, it’s an understatement to say that they’re collectively well-offended and angry.

“How on earth did they find out about your father?” Giles mutters, arms crossed and expression strained. “You’ve only told us, and none of us have spoken it to anyone else.”

You shake your head, face resting against your palm, elbows leant on the table heavily. “I don’t know. No one should know. I don’t get it.” You sigh deeply, rubbing your cheek. “I’m going to call dad. Cover me.”

The boys do as you ask, as always, speaking around you to hide your conversation with your dad from anyone. His instructions come quickly, clearly, and in a tone you don’t like at all.

_“Watch yourself and your friends. Don’t trust anyone, even the boys. Take the posters down and deny it. Pretend you know nothing. I promise, sweetheart, no one’s going to hurt you; Lucian and I will look into this, found out who it is and deal with them. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”_

When you’re done, you hang up, head dropping into your arms atop the table.

_Stay safe, mum. Stay safe, dad. Don’t leave me._

**♡♔♡**

The next day, there are more posters. This time, they’re about Leo and Alyn.

 

**“The freak twins’ parents died in a fire. Who thinks they were the ones to light the match?”**

 

They’re beyond furious. Both of them go home, taking the posters with them. Barely a word is spoken between the rest of you for the rest of the say.

The next day is the same, only for Giles instead.

**“Think you know your council president? Think again. His family disowned him because he’s a failure.”**

 

You almost burst into tears when you see the poster. Giles remains silent for the whole day, not breathing a word to anyone, even the teachers. You tear down the posters with Sid and Robert, furious and frustrated and confused.

It could be Aubrey. It seems coincidental that such a thing is happening straight after you argued with her. The teachers gladly bring her into the office to question her, but she says nothing, denying all involvement.

It keeps happening, for each and every person in the group.

**“The frigid doll so many of you adore isn’t who he says he is. He’s illegitimate and adopted.”**

**“The emotionless, privileged noble is the son of the criminal and director of a murderous organised crime unit.”**

**“The supposedly cute Nico is illegitimate and Byron’s half brother.”**

**“Albert doesn’t have a purpose of his own.”**

**“Robert’s parents were royalists and were rightly slaughtered for it.”**

 

But there’s nothing about Sid. And the group soon realises this.

“It’s been a day since the last ones. Why hasn’t anything been said about you?” Alyn almost growls, voice snappy and sharp. Sid rolls his eyes, but he looks tired, the exhaustion from trying to figure this out showing in his features.

“I don’t know. Once I find the bastards, I’ll ask them.” He retorts. Albert narrows his eyes.

“I’ll be blunt. It’s quite coincidental that the supposed information dealer of the group is the only one to not have a poster directed at them nor revealing anything about them.” He grumbles. Nico sighs, face buried in his hands. Many of the others are doing the same. Byron narrows his eyes.

“Although I would think this is obvious by this point, if you are behind it, you will not be safe, Sid. Regardless of your position in this group.” He warns Sid bluntly, the distrust in his tone more than clear. Sid scowls.

“Are you fucking joking? It’s not me. Why the hell would I do something like this? I’m not a sick prick. I deal information, but that’s it; I deal it. When people ask for it, I give it. I don’t go around spewing it everywhere, and even then, I’ve never sold any information about any of you. Screw that, I’ve actually planted false information for the likes of you to get people off your back. Do me a favour, Byron, and fuck off.”

He all but growls the last sentence, and the latter’s eyes go completely cold and empty, devoid of any politeness that might have been there before. Albert stiffens, glaring heatedly across the table. The fury in his eyes is blatantly clear.

“How dare you speak like that to us! Remember who you are addressing!” He practically spits, hatred laced through his voice like poison.

You have been watching this happen with wide eyes, baffled and mortified at how things have gotten so bad in mere days. Now, you intervene, tone sharp, commanding and leaving no room for arguments.

“Enough!” The order cuts through the conversation like a knife, sounding louder than it is since most of the cafeteria has gone silent to listen in on the drama. All eyes turn to you, and you send both Albert and Byron equally appalled frowns. “You have no evidence, so don’t _you_ dare make such allegations! He’s done nothing but help and try to figure this out, and you’re blaming him because he’s being made out – very obviously – to be the one behind it, when there’s no reason to believe that he is!”

Albert scoffs. “He’s hardly of a status we can just trust off the bat-”

“Be quiet!” You snap, cutting him off. “I thought you were better than that, Albert! Status has _nothing_ to do with how trustworthy a person is; corruption runs just as strongly in nobility as in civilian populations. Sid’s a part of this group, and I know that he would never do something like this; he’s not that type of person. His loyalty to us is unquestionable.”

Byron gives you a sharp look. “But can you say for definite that he’s innocent?”

You almost feel like you’ve been struck by the accusing tone he uses, and by the complete lack of emotion in him when he says it. You have to take a moment to gather yourself, feeling your heart pounding with fear and what definitely resembles betrayal.

You can’t be certain, of course. But you know, in your heart, that he is innocent, and that gut instinct is one that you trust with your life.

“Not in a way that you would want.” Your voice is quieter now, but the hurt in it is easy to hear, even to those who don’t know you well. “But I know that he’s innocent. My instincts tell me he is, and they’re never wrong. He wouldn’t do this. I’m willing to bet a hell of a lot on that.”

He watches you for a long, few, tense seconds. Looks are shared around the table, and the tension becomes uncomfortably thick. You manage to hold his gaze, despite how it almost burns through you, until he finally glances at Albert. Said male shakes his head. Nico looks between the two, now considerably pale. You see Leo and Alyn share a wary glance. Robert diverts his eyes, and even Giles avoids looking at you, instead crossing his arms and staring at the table. Louis’ eyes are trained on the table as well, expression blank, but there’s a mix of emotions swirling in his hues.

_They don’t believe him. They don’t believe me._

Your heart may as well have been ripped in half. Pain sears through your chest, intense enough to drag the breath out of you.

Sid jerks upright, shoving his chair back in the process. He swipes his bag from the floor, snapping, “You’re all such assholes. I’m not even talking about me anymore. For all the shit she’s taken and dealt with for you, you’re treating her like you don’t know her. I’m not doing this.”

He spins on his heels, lurching toward the doors. You immediately grab your bag and bolt up, darting after him, stomach churning. “Sid, wait-”

“Oh dear. Looks like there’s trouble in paradise.” A voice drawls out in front of Sid. He comes to a sudden stop, and you bump into his back, unable to stop yourself fast enough to avoid him.

Just as you go to see who it is, dread surging through you at the familiar voice, Sid moves so he conceals you completely, hiding you from them. There’s a scoff. “Look at you. You’re like a dog, guarding its master. I wonder what she does to make you so submissive.”

Rage flushes through you.

_Aubrey._

You dart forward, intending to face her yourself, but Sid blocks you with his arm and keeps you mostly behind him, nearly entirely hidden.

You stare up at him, confused, but he speaks before you can question him. “You’re behind all this shit, right? The posters? It’s pretty damn obvious. The style of speak used is all yours. They started right after we made it clear we had no interest in people like you. You’re getting revenge, and to be perfectly blunt, it’s pathetic. Do everyone a favour and wallow in your self-hate without dragging other people into it.”

You can feel her scowling. “I didn’t do a thing. It wasn’t me. And I could care less about all of you.”

Sid frowns now, muttering, “Then why have I heard you complaining about ___ with your friends non-stop since then?”

There’s a low murmur around the cafeteria, students whispering and mumbling amongst themselves. Many nod in agreement with Sid’s words.

You move to the side, so you can see her, without straying too far from Sid. She glares at you vehemently, hatred clear in her eyes. You send a subtle glare back. “Look, doing this isn’t going to change anything. It’s pretty clear that it’s you doing this, and there are people all around you who are aware of it now. Just stop, and we’ll leave it alone. We’ll stay away from each other. Otherwise, it’s going to cause a lot of trouble for you.”

Her lip twitches up at the edge, just a little. It’s enough, though. The smirk, the hostility and evil intention is clear. “Yeah?”

She moves forward, walking straight for you. You remain where you are, calm, deploying all of the training your father has taught you to keep yourself calm and ready for a conflict. You hear a few of the boys standing up, probably thinking you’re at risk, and Sid stiffens next to you. She stalks forward, coming to a slow, gradual stop mere inches from you. Sid’s gaze is fixed on her, intense and very much threatening. She’s taller than you, but you keep your stance strong as she leans in, murmuring in a low tone,

“I’d like to see you try. The ICAC can’t control everyone. Especially not me.”

And with that, she shoves past you, making sure to knock into you in the process. Fear coils in your stomach, deep and unsettling, at her words. You don’t move, even while she walks away and struts off into the corridor, all eyes on her back. Your arms cross themselves habitually.

_So it is her. She’s going after me specifically._

A zip of adrenaline shoots up your back.

“I’m outta here.” Sid grumbles out. He shakes his head, storming off and away from the group, heading for the other doors to outside. You dart after him, only for a hand to clamp itself around your wrist. You whip around, finding yourself faced with Giles. You chest aches again.

“___, it is unwise to go after him right now. You’re being targeted; going off on your own is dangerous and reckless.” He warns, concern in his eyes. Another stab impales your heart, and you find yourself almost sickened by his lack of care for Sid.

_They don’t trust him at all. They’re isolating him, like quarantining a possible infection._

“I can’t believe this.” You look around the boys, eyes showing your blatant shock and disappointment. “He’s done nothing but prove his loyalty to this group again and again. We would be able to tell if it was him. I know when he’s lying, and he isn’t lying about this. How can you just cut him off like this? Even if the odds are against him, don’t you understand how much it’s hurting him to hear you say things like that?”

Giles’ expression becomes clouded with remorse, eyes torn. Leo and Louis show the same thing, with Nico looking unsure, Byron and Albert still untrusting, and Robert almost looks pained. Alyn frowns deeply.

“___,” Leo murmurs. “We don’t want to do this. We’re only accepting the possibility-”

“It’s not a possibility.” You lash out now, voice becoming sharp like a whip. He recoils slightly, as if you’ve physically struck him. That in itself hurts, but you can’t bring yourself to apologise through your rage. “He’s not lying. There are only a few situations wherein I’ll put complete faith in my instincts and won’t consider anything else, but this is one of them. I know he’s telling the truth.”

You yank your wrist out from Giles’ grip, then fix the strap of your bag so it goes across your body, sitting on the opposite shoulder to where the bag is. You step back, shaking your head. “I can’t believe that you’d do this to him. I thought we trusted each other enough to stay together when things like this happen. Evidently not.” Your eyes hone in on Giles. “Tell Miss Erickson I’ve gone home.”

With that, ignoring their calls of your name, you turn and head for the door used to leave. The entire cafeteria watches you walk out, lurching through the door and out onto the yard. Immediately, you scan the area, looking for Sid. You can’t see him and grit your teeth, bolting across the light stone floor and running into the bright sunlight.

Putting yourself in Sid’s head, you quickly deduce that he’ll have gone to his default safe place, the location he always goes to and told you to go to should you be in trouble. You all but bolt through the gates, not responding to the shouts of your name from teachers and students alike.

Once you reach the park, you start sprinting.

Your hair whips around you as your head turns, eyes seeking out that familiar shape amidst the trees. You practically fly through the forest, jumping over roots and dodging branches, orienting yourself without thinking. The sunlight streams through the gaps in the canopies above you, sending beams of gold over you every few seconds. Your breathing and slightly heavy footsteps are all you can hear, panted breaths whooshing in and out of your lungs.

“Sid!” Your voice calls out, desperate and worried. “Sid!”

Nothing. Your heart may as well be tearing in half.

_He’s leaving. This is it. I’m going to lose him. We all are. He’s going to go away and he’ll be alone again. I’ve failed him. I was supposed to protect him and show him a better way to live, but I’ve only caused him pain._

Your eyes fill with tears. You launch yourself over a fallen tree, catching your leg on another branch in the process. The sting of your skin ripping against the jagged bark is barely noticeable with the mental pain you’re in, and you gasp out his name again. “Sid!”

Mere minutes later, you reach your destination.

And when you burst through the trees, breaking out onto the hill overlooking the northern district of Wysteria, he’s there.

He’s standing near the trees, facing the city. When you all but launch yourself out of the forest, he whips around, expression collapsing with shock.

You see the pain in his eyes immediately, see the hurt and betrayal he must have deliberately hidden before.

You slow upon seeing this, tears now freely falling down your cheeks. You suck in a mouthful of air, swiping at the skin, before you whisper, “Sid, I’m so sorry. I believe you. I promise, I’ll prove that it’s not you. I won’t-”

Up until this point, he’s been angry. Angry, over the others thinking it’s him. Angry over being blamed again. Frustrated at not being trusted, like always. Livid, at the insinuation that he’d betray the only people he’s ever given his loyalty to. Hurt, at the realisation that those people have no faith in him.

Now, he’s struck by wave after wave of sadness. Sorrow. Gripping loneliness.

Seeing you stood there, trying to apologise for other people, seeming to think that you need to prove your own loyalty… it’s like a punch in the chest to him. It makes the whole situation so much worse.

He interrupts you, albeit not too harshly, voice gentler considering your state. “Stop apologising for them. It’s not your fault. I know you believe me, ___.”

His words only seem to upset you more. Your eyes lower to the ground, more tears spilling down your face. “But it is my fault. I said I’d make you understand and experience friendships that are real and make you happy, but I’ve caused you pain instead. I’ve hurt you, because I made you a part of this. God, I probably didn’t even give you a choice in it.”

His legs move before his mind decides that they will. He approaches you swiftly, body reacting and ready to respond without logical input. He hates hearing you speak like this of yourself. He hates that you take all the blame on your own shoulders, and he hates the agony you put yourself through when you’ve done nothing wrong.

So, he reaches you, and without the slightest hesitation, he engulfs you in a hug so tight that it knocks the remaining breath out of you.

You’re too distressed to even be surprised, and he feels your fingers clutch at his blazer, gripping so hard that they shake. Your whole body is trembling as well, back shuddering and legs doing the same, unstable from your barely-suppressed crying. He locks his arm around your waist, the other braced against your back, while its hand cradles your head against his chest. Your hitched breaths are muffled in his shirt, quietened by the material, but he knows that you’re barely holding it together.

“Princess,” He murmurs, voice low and almost sighed out. He feels a stronger tremor run through you, and you stifle a cry, pressing your head into his chest. “No offence, but if I wasn’t interested in staying with the group, I would have just left and that would have been it. I chose to stay. Don’t try and make that your fault, because it wasn’t.”

He grips your waist harder, tugging you closer to be completely flush against him. “And actually, up until now, I’ve liked being in the group. I’ve got my favourites and my less liked in there, but it’s been good. It’s been nicer than I thought.”

He rests his chin against your head for a moment, then presses a soft kiss to your hair. “But I don’t think me staying is going to be any good for any of us.”

A cry escapes you now, and you shake your head furiously, face still buried in his chest. “No! I don’t want you to be on your own again! You shouldn’t have to be!”

The agony in your voice, the desperation, makes his heart ache. He strokes your hair, fingers sifting through the strands. “Please, Sid. I’ll prove that you’re innocent. Just please, don’t leave. I’ll make them understand and believe in you. I’ll stop them from doubting you. Don’t leave. Don’t leave us. I… I don’t want you to go.”

Another strike of pain sears through his chest, so intense that it’s baffling.

_What the hell is this?_

He imagines leaving the group, imagines having to walk away and never speak to you again. He envisions it in his mind, watching from a distance, never getting to hear your beautiful voice up close again and having to stop considering you a friend.

_There it is, again._

He stares down at you, held in his arms protectively. You’re still trying to be strong for him, still attempting to stifle those little sobs for his sake. You always do that. You always stand there, so, _so_ close to breaking down, but you never let yourself. You’re always trying to hide your pain from him, but then, as soon as he tells you to, you let your guards down. You have that absolute faith and trust in him that allows you to.

As soon as he makes it clear that he doesn’t mind, all of your protection falls away and you show him how much you’re hurting.

That’s how it’s always been, and he’s always loved it.

If he leaves, all of that will go away. You won’t have anyone to break down to, and he won’t be there to dry your tears when you do.

_But why do I care so much? She’s just my friend. She’s been that this whole time. Is that how people feel about friends? This seems too strong. This is more. This is something else._

“___.” He turns around, with you still in his arms, before he leans against the tree near him.

Feeling your constant shaking, he lowers himself down to sit against it. You fall to your knees before him, but when you go to move back, probably thinking he doesn’t want you to be practically sitting on him, he only tightens his grip on you. He tugs you to be sideward on, leaning against his chest, before he hooks his other arm under your thighs. He lifts them over his own, leaving you cradled close to him, head now buried in his shoulder.

_This is what I want. This feels right. And this isn’t the feeling you would get with a friend. No, this is a feeling I want because she’s special to me. She means so much more. I’ve never cared about someone this much, have never wanted to protect someone and make them happy like I have with her._

His thoughts leave a heavy weight settling in his mind. He recalls your words, the ones you had them all swear by when people started to assume things and cause trouble for you all.

_“We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”_

His chest aches.

_So, that’s it, huh? I guess I broke another rule._

“Cry, Princess. You can cry to me.”

Even though it’s still muffled, when you start to sob into his shoulder, it’s heart-wrenching.

At the same time, he’s glad, because it confirms his thoughts.

_I want her to only show her weakness to me. I want her to come to me for help. I want to help her. I want to make her strong when she can’t do it anymore._

His throat thickens, and he smoothes a hand over your hair again. You hand presses against his shirt, over where his heart is, and the touch warms him through. He realises now that, despite many other people having touched him in the past, despite them trying to get him to do things with them, he’s never felt a reaction in response. He’s never actually desired anyone like this.

Yes, he’s make jokes and insinuations of the likes to rile people up and mess with them, but he’s never really meant it. Despite his motto of wanting “casual affairs” and nothing else, the thought of such now is almost repulsive.

The thought of being with you, though… that’s something he can only dream of, and now that he understands this, it only makes him want it more. All this time, when he’s felt odd little tingles and bursts of heat from contact with you, it’s been a silent signal, a call he’s been deaf to. His heart has sung out for you, but he’s only just learned how to speak its language. As of today, his mind and emotions are finally coming in-line with each other.

_I love her. I love my best friend. And I’m too selfish to leave, because if I do, one of the others might steal her away from me._

He’ll wait, he decides. He’ll wait as long as he has to, until the others are removed from the picture, and then he’ll make his move. He’ll wait until the opportunity comes, when he’ll have no competition and the rule will no longer apply, and then he’ll do everything he can to make you his.

His smirk finally returns. The pain from the last half an hour eases, replaced by strength and determination to get the girl he loves and make her his.

You take another few minutes to get your own emotions out, and then you start to calm yourself down, breathing in as deeply and slowly as possible. You’re limp against him, still trembling very slightly, but it’s a fine tremor now. It’s small and weaker than before, and he can see you building yourself back up again.

He keeps stroking your hair, his other hand holding your upper arm, thumb rubbing it absently. He moves it, though, using it to brush away the strands sticking to your cheek. Your other one is pressed against his shoulder, head tucked there snugly, and your eyes are still closed. He wipes the moisture from your face, then leans down, lips hovering over your temple.

“I’m not going anywhere, Princess.” He utters, more softly than he’s ever spoken in his life. Your eyes open now, and you stare up at him, hope sparkling in them like diamonds. The elation in your expression is so beautiful, but he smirks again, trying to remember to act natural. “I’m staying right with ya, ‘cause I don’t trust those guys to do it.”

He sees your throat working, like you’re struggling to speak. Finally, you clear it and swallow thickly, managing to whisper back, “They just need time. I’ll make them learn, I promise. I’ll show them that they can trust you, and each other.”

You sit up now, straightening yourself, before you move to kneel between his legs instead of leaning against him. He reluctantly lets go of you, ignoring the strong urge to pull you back and hold you again. He bends his right leg so he can rest his elbow on it, while the left remains stretched out beside you. “But I’m staying with you, as well. I won’t ever not trust you, Sid. That much I can promise and say for certain. I’ll always stand by you.”

A wave of adoration and love washes over him at your words. They’re personal, special, just for him. He can hear the real emotion in your voice, and knows that you’re being sincere. You’re telling the truth.

He moves forward slightly, reaching out to cup your face with his left hand. Seeing you blink in surprise, he smoothes the last tear tracks away, then presses his lips to your forehead ever so tenderly.

Smirking against the soft skin at your sharp intake of breath, he keeps his mouth there, mumbling, “You got me. Thanks, Princess. It might not be obvious, but you’re pretty damn important to me. I’ll help you whenever you need it, and will do anything you need me to. I’ll do whatever I need to so you can be happy, because you’ve done a hell of a lot for me when you didn’t have to, and I’m grateful for it.”

He rests his forehead against your own now, intense, indigo eyes staring deeply into yours. “I don’t care how little something might seem. If you want to talk about something, or can’t do somethin’ yourself, I’ll be here for ya. The others can’t say that, but I can. I hope you realise you’re my best friend, and I don’t do things half-assed, so you’d better be ready for that.”

Saying best friend hurts, but it’s necessary now. He has to make sure he stays within the lines you drew between every member of the group, and so he says it anyway, even when a stab of emotional pain lances through his mind.

Your lips have been parted while he’s been speaking, face set in shock at his uncharacteristically emotional and honest words, but now the expression fades. It’s replaced by a strong, joyous look of gratitude and appreciation, and your lips turn up into a beaming, real smile.

“Thank you, Sid. I’ll do the same, and I want you to expect that from me too. I’ll help you whenever, with whatever, regardless of how small it might be. You can come to me for help, always. You know you’re important to me, just like the others are, and that I’m the same. You’re my best friend, and I treat my friends properly. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re happy as well. I’m ready for that, so I hope you are too.”

Another swell of love. He nods. “Yeah, I can do that.” Realising that you’re both going to be late for lesson, and absolutely certain that he doesn’t have the energy to do any more work today, he grins and speaks again, lowering his hand to rest it on the grass next to your leg while he speaks. “Hey, wanna skip scho-”

He stops short. The grass around him is dry, but he feels distinct, _warm_ dampness under his hand. His eyes snap to the floor.

He takes in a sharp breath, seeing blood dripping down your thigh, toward the bottom and over the side. It’s soaked into your sock and is still flowing, the gash producing it long, somewhat wide and significantly deep in your flesh. The sight alone makes his heart stutter with panic, then with confusion and anger.

“What the hell? Who did this?” Rage flushes through him. He glances at the blood on his hand, then returns his burning gaze to you, questioning, “Was it Aubrey? I swear to God, if she did-”

“Sid, it’s okay. It wasn’t her; I just cut it when I was running. I wasn’t paying enough attention and caught it on a tree branch. It’s fine, honestly. It looks worse than it is.” You rattle out, placing a soothing hand on his other arm. He heaves out a breath, glad that it wasn’t a person who hurt you. Still, he rolls his eyes, studying the injury once more.

“Geez, Princess.” He mutters, hunching over your thigh. Not caring about getting blood on him, he tugs your lower leg out from underneath you, stretching it out so you’re not stressing the wound more.

He places one hand on the inside of your thigh, for once not particularly thinking about the intimacy of the action. His other hand wipes some of the blood to the side, succeeding in smearing it across your skin more, but it allows him to see exactly how big the gash is. It’s quite large, despite your relaxed description of it, and deep as well.

“Trust you to hurt yourself for the sake of someone like me. You’re usually all careful and good at taking care of yourself. I guess that means you really do care about me.” He smirks, noting the blush in your cheeks and the obvious embarrassment in your expression. You huff out a breath.

“Of course I do. You know that. I care about all of you, a lot.” You mumble. He snorts, ignoring the pleasant sensation that rises up in him at your words.

“I know. I’m just teasing ya.” He grunts out, sighing. “That’s actually pretty deep, and close to your artery. You’re damn lucky you didn’t hit it. If you had, you’d be in a lot more trouble right now.”

He adjusts his bag, getting it into a more comfortable position, before he moves onto one knee. Without warning you, he slides his arm under your back, the other curling under your thighs. Ignoring your shriek of indignant surprise, he pushes to his feet, cradling you against him.

“Sid!” You cry out, struggling against him and trying to get down. “Stop it! I can walk!”

“Can is different to should, ___.” He retorts, starting to walk through the forest with you in his arms. You flail about, kicking your uninjured leg and shoving at his chest. He rolls his eyes again, watching your cheeks swiftly turn pink.

“Sid, seriously! Someone will see and take it the wrong way! Just let me walk; I’m fine!” You protest, a good amount of worry on your face.

Sid doesn’t want to let you walk, both because he wants an excuse to hold you more, but also because he’s genuinely worried about you straining your leg and opening the wound even more. However, you have a good point, and a serious one at that. None of you can afford such rumours right now.

Swallowing back his pride, he sighs and sets you down on the floor, albeit slowly and carefully. You wince slightly when you put weight on the leg, so he puts his arm around your back again, supporting you. You give him a strained smile, holding onto his upper arm. “Okay. I didn’t answer you just then, but I think I’m definitely going to skip school for the afternoon.”

He grins, despite the circumstances. “Good, because I ain’t going back today either. We’re closer to my house; come over, and we can look at your leg there. My dad’s still in the embassy, so we won’t have to deal with him for a while. We’re better getting you to the closest place so you’re not walking as far.”

You nod. “As long as you don’t mind, and your dad won’t.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? If I minded, I wouldn’t offer. As for my dad, if you haven’t noticed already, he loves having you around.” He sends you a sly, sideward look. “Thinks you’re an angel. I can’t say he’s wrong.”

Your cheeks flush again. You give him a light flick on the side of the head. “Thanks.” He just laughs lowly.

You walk through the forest, him lifting you over fallen trees and larger roots when necessary, until you reach the path leading around the edge of the woods. From then on, it’s a simple walk to his house, lasting another ten minutes. Finally, you come upon the large manor, stretched out in a larger area of lush grass and similarly grand houses.

When you get to the front door, he unlocks it and swings it open. Then, without any warning, he sweeps his arm under your knees, holding you in his arms again. Your shout of protest goes unnoticed, and he simply walks inside, kicking the door shut behind him. Sauntering through the corridors, he elects to not listen to your disgruntled mutters. Rather, he just appreciates the sensation of your comparatively small, delicate frame in his grip, and how your arms have looped around his neck despite your protests.

When he gets into the kitchen, he takes you over to the island counter, which is spotlessly clean and white. He sets you down on it, then heads off without a single word, retrieving the medical kit, a flannel and a towel from the downstairs bathroom. When he comes back, he sees that you’re staring down at your phone, expression conflicted. He sets the stuff down, coming to stand in front of you. “What is it?”

You frown. “The guys. They’re all messaging me or trying to call. They want to know where I am.”

Irritation sparks in Sid’s mind.

_Always getting in the way, even when they’ve done her harm._

“Here.” He responds, plucking the phone from your hand. You watch, baffled, as he drops it inside your bag, before taking said thing from you and depositing it near the door. “Now they can’t bother us. They were being assholes. Let them suffer for it.”

Your eyes track him closely, frown deepening, disapproving of his words. “Sid…”

He plants his hands on either side of your thighs on the counter, face inches from your own. His eyes narrow. “What? Am I wrong?”

You press your lips together for a moment, studying his behaviour. After a few long seconds, your head tilts just a little, like you’re trying to solve a difficult problem. “What’s wrong?”

Sid blinks. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong.”

You shake your head. “There is. You’re acting weirdly.”

He scowls. “Are you kidding? ___, they accused me of betraying the group, didn’t believe you of all people when they said it, you’re sat here bleeding as a result of that, and now they have the nerve to care and worry over you. I’m not acting weirdly. I’m annoyed, like most people would be in this position. You’re too damn forgiving. If you don’t toughen up with them, they won’t learn.”

He straightens up now, taking the flannel and dampening it at the sink. You stare at your hands, clamped over the wound in a slightly fruitless attempt to stop the bleeding. The crimson is dripping over your fingers, and has started to pool on the counter under you. “I can’t just be mean to them when they make mistakes. Being tough with them could make them even worse.”

He scoffs. “So you’re going to let them be idiots and get away with it.”

“They’re not idiots, Sid. They’ve been through things that have left impressions on them, and it’s my job to help them through it.” You sigh softly, closing your eyes. “When there’s so many variables in their behaviour and pasts to take into account, you can’t just act as if it’s black and white. You have to respond to them in a way that balances being tough and considerate out. Otherwise, you run the risk of hurting them all and worsening the problem.”

He returns to you with the flannel, shrugging his blazer off and leaving him in his shirt, trousers and boots. He rolls his sleeves up, gently lifting your hands away from your thigh. He wipes at the skin around the wounds, letting the damp cloth ease away the blood with careful movements. “Yeah, I get it. Everyone’s got problems. That still doesn’t mean that you should tiptoe around them when they’re blatant assholes.”

You open your eyes now, watching him wipe at the gash and feeling it throbbing with pain each time he touches it. “I know.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes. He goes back and forth between your leg and the sink, rinsing the flannel out several times, while he cleans your leg of blood. When the gash is completely visible, he rinses it again, then dampens a thinner piece of cloth made specifically for helping to clean wounds.

“Brace yourself.” He mutters, knowing that this will probably hurt a lot. Looking at the injury now, he sees that it’s about four inches long, maybe a quarter of an inch wide, and a quarter of an inch deep. He can see some muscle in the deepest part, so he knows he needs to get you to the walk-in to have it looked at. “Geez. That branch must have been like a sword. I hope you realise how deep this is.” You peer down at the gash, making a face.

“Yeah. I thought it wouldn’t be too bad since I was running so fast, but I think the branch was really jagged and rough. It probably didn’t help that I kept running after I cut it.” You mumble out. He finds himself smirking at your self-destructive actions, shaking his head.

“Good choice, genius.” You send him a glare. “This is gonna hurt, but it needs to be disinfected. I’m taking you to the walk-in because it needs stitches, but you can’t just walk there without cleaning it, so I’m doing it now.” You don’t fight his logic, knowing he’s right, and simply nod. “Hold onto me, or the counter. Try not to move, or I could knock it the wrong way and open it up more.”

You take in a deep breath, reaching up to hold onto his upper arm. You drop your head against his shoulder on the opposite side to where your leg is, so you’ll be out of his way, before you steel yourself and nod into his shirt. “Okay. Do it.”

_She’s so strong. She just gets on with things, even when she knows she’s going to hurt. She’s always been like that._

Shaking off his thoughts, he quickly gets to it. He presses the cloth against the gash, pressing down with enough force to let the water come in contact with the exposed tissue. You jump slightly, fingers clutching at his arm, at the intense burning it causes in your thigh. It’s much worse than the gash itself, enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut and bite down on your tongue. A barely audible moan of pain escapes you.

His throat thickens. Seeing you in such pain is sickening.

He keeps wiping and dabbing at the injury, applying more water when he needs to, all the while electing to dismiss how tightly you’re gripping his arm. “You’re doing really well, Princess. Hang on a little longer.”

You nod against his shoulder, breathing in shakily. His words are comforting and encouraging, and you hold onto them through the pain. He repeats his actions until he’s satisfied that it should be clean, and then he places some gauze over the gash, all while pressing each side of it together as tightly as he can. Then, he wraps a long strip of bandage around your thigh, a bit tighter than normal so that the skin will hopefully stay together more.

Once he’s done, he puts the equipment away, leaving the cloth in some hot water. He washes the blood from his hands, then comes to you with the flannel, having put hot water on it as well. He takes your left hand, wiping at the skin gently to remove the blood from it. Your head falls against his shoulder again; the pain of cleaning it has tired you out. Still, you squeeze his hand back when he finishes cleaning your left, saying slowly, “Thank you, Sid.”

He returns the squeeze, moving onto your right hand. A small smirk tugs at his lips. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Eventually, when you’re not caked in blood and the kitchen is sorted out – including the counter being cleaned – he lifts you down. You wince more now when you stand. Sid raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m calling a taxi. You ain’t walking like that.”

“Don’t-” He retrieves his phone without even giving you time to protest properly, dialling the number. You scowl at him, leaning on the counter heavily. He just winks with a smirk, waiting for them to pick up. When they do, he orders one, giving his details before hanging up. He throws his coat back on, swiping your bag, before he approaches you once more. Your cheeks puff out indignantly. “You didn’t need to do that. I can walk.”

“Can, not should.” He paraphrases his earlier words, raising an eyebrow. “It’s deep, ___. You can’t risk stressing it and tearing it open even more. Stop being self-destructive for once, will you?”

You turn your head to the side, muttering, “I’m not self-destructive. It’s not that serious.”

He drops a hand atop your hair, ruffling it, while he responds sarcastically, “Says the girl that’s got a four inch wide, quarter of an inch deep gash in her thigh right on top of her artery.”

“Shut up.”

Five minutes pass, and then the sound of a car beeping its horn outside the gates sounds. Sid tucks you under his arm, hooking your own around his neck, and helps you to walk while you both leave the house. The wound burns more painfully now, and you suspect that you may have done more damage to your muscles than you suspected, considering how much it’s hurting.

When you reach the taxi and practically collapse inside, you’re out of breath, sweating slightly and your cheeks are considerably lacking in blood. The driver blinks, watching Sid get in beside you through the rear-view mirror.

“You alright?” He asks, studying you closely. You nod tiredly, chest rising and falling more heavily than before.

“Yeah, thanks.” You sigh out. He looks dubious, but he moves his gaze to Sid anyway.

“So, where do you need to go?” He questions. Sid peers at your wound, seeing crimson seeping through the gauze considerably quickly. He curses under his breath, moving to sit next to you, before he tries to squeeze the skin together around the bandage.

“The walk-in centre.” He answers, not elaborating any more. The driver nods, pulling away from the manor.

“How come? I’m guessing you’re sick or something?” He ponders, glancing at you in the mirror again. You groan quietly, the world starting to spin slightly. You wonder if this is shock setting in late, now that you’ve walked on it again and you’re not distracted.

“I sort of cut my leg open on a tree branch.” You mutter, doing the same as Sid and pushing your skin together under the gauze.

The sensation of flesh meeting when it’s never normally separated makes you feel nauseous, and you squeeze your eyes shut, thinking that this is most definitely shock setting in late. Sid sees this and frowns, eyes narrowing. He tugs you into his side, rubbing your upper arm with his free hand. The driver glances at you incredulously, turning off into the main part of town.

“A tree branch? How’d you manage that?” He replies, sounding stuck between amazed and baffled. Sid gives him a sharp look.

“She had something important to do and was running, and she caught it as she went past. It was jagged, so it tore through when she hit it.” He explains lowly, feeling your head loll to the side, dropping against his shoulder. The driver shakes his head, coming to a stop at a set of lights.

“Ah. Well, at least she’s got a dependable boyfriend to take care of her.”

Your eyes fly open. Sid’s stomach lurches, something in his mind crying out at the thought, wanting it to be true.

“We’re friends.” He snaps, voice much more hostile than before. “I’m not her boyfriend.”

The driver avoids looking at the both of you now, seeming sheepish and like he’s cringing at his mistake. “Oh. Sorry.”

It’s silent from then on. In ten minutes, you arrive at the walk-in, and Sid pays the driver without speaking a single word. His chest feels tight with emotion, but he doesn’t let it show, simply helping you out of the taxi and supporting you when you’re standing. He takes you inside the large, white building, the automatic door sliding open when you reach it.

You’re definitely getting worse now, the tremor returning swiftly and skin much warmer to the touch. Blood is spreading through the gauze and has almost completely saturated it, with several drops having escaped, sliding down your thigh slowly. You groan again, murmuring shakily, “Please don’t tell me it’s infected already. That’s going to suck if it is.”

He shifts you up to be held more tightly against him, seeing people sat in chairs in the waiting room watching the two with varying expressions. Most of them aren’t obviously ill or hurt, merely coughing every now and again or looking strained, pain evident in their expressions.

The majority seem shocked at the sight of the blood running down your leg, but you barely notice. You cling onto Sid’s upper arm for stability, trying to walk even with your head spinning. He squeezes your side. “They’ll clean it. It shouldn’t be able to become infected that fast.”

When you stop at the reception, you lean against the counter heavily, one hand braced on the marble while the other remains pressed against your thigh. The receptionist’s eyes go wide, and she swiftly stands up, swiping a tablet computer from the desk. “Oh dear. Come with me; we’ll get that seen to straight away.”

Sid nods, as do you, albeit weaker. “Thanks.”

He helps you walk through again, following the receptionist down the corridor. She escorts both of you through the white hallways, which are silent and empty, until she reaches a door labelled, “Emergency Room”

You sigh heavily. “My dad’s going to murder me. He always says that if I end up in A&E or the E.R., he’ll kill whoever put me there.”

Sid manages a laugh, taking you inside the room when the nurse opens the door. “Technically it was the tree’s fault. Your lack of co-ordination just made it easier for it to hurt you.”

A smile graces your lips despite your nausea and pain. The nurse gestures to the medical bed, pulling out the roll of paper towel so that it covers it all. “If you’d like to lie down, the doctor will be here to see you in a moment.”

Sid nods again, taking you over to the bed. He lifts you up before laying you down on it, noticing more streams of blood rolling down your leg. The nurse breezes out, leaving you alone. Your head tips to the side, and you fix him with a marginally hazy look. “Can you get my phone for me? I need to call my mum.”

He does as you say, taking your bag from you and finding your phone. You use your clean hand to call her, the other still pressed against the wound, keeping the skin underneath together. When she picks up, you wince, greeting, “Hello?”

Sid can hear her response with the silence of the room. “___? What’s wrong? I thought you had lessons right now.”

You make a face. “I should, but I’m not in school.”

“What? Why? What’s happened? Are you okay?” She spitfires questions at you, loud enough to make you move the phone away for a second. You answer once she stops speaking.

“Long story cut short, something happened in the group, and-” You glance at Sid, eyes asking a silent question.

_Can I tell her?_

He nods. He can trust your mum, and it’ll just make it more suspicious to lie or play it down. You give him a grateful smile. “Basically, both me and Sid were really upset because of it. The details aren’t important right now, but I went after Sid because the others were sort of being horrible to him, and in the process of finding him, I ran through the woods. There was a really sharp tree branch, I wasn’t paying attention, and basically, I’ve cut my leg open.”

There’s a beat of silence. You move the phone away again.

“___, where are you? Are you bleeding badly? Please tell me Sid’s with you! Have you gotten help? Go to the hospital right now!”

You cover your eyes with the back of your hand, sighing. Shaking your head, you speak again, talking over her babbling.

“Mum, calm down. I’m with Sid in the walk-in centre, and I’m getting looked at. It’s not exactly a small cut but it’s fine; it’s nothing major. I’ll be okay. I just wanted to let you know.” She starts to rattle on again, so you ignore her, asking, “Can you please call the school and tell them that I’m not coming back in, because I’m hurt? They’ll be more understanding about it that way.”

She spews more worried words at you for another few seconds, until she finally calms herself down enough to process what you said. “God, ___. You’re going to give me a heart attack, I swear. I’ll call your dad after I’ve called the school, so he can come and pick you up-”

“Mum, no. He’s in work. It’s fine; we got a taxi here, so we can just get one home. Don’t bother him for something like this.” The door opens now, and the doctor steps inside, a tall female with short-cut black hair and grey eyes. She gives you a smile, another nurse coming in with her. His ashy brown hair is cut short as well, and his blue eyes are lively.

You return the smile, albeit more strained. “I need to go, mum. The doctor’s here. Don’t call dad; just let the school know, please, and I’ll make my way home after I’ve been looked at. You can both scold me later. See you then.”

“___!” She protests.

You hang up, shaking your head again, granted slowly. You put your phone down, meeting the doctor’s eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries!” She dismisses your apology kindly, stepping up beside you. Sid moves back, leaning against the wall next to where the top of the bed is. The doctor takes one look at your leg, then turns to the nurse. “Can you get me some cleaning equipment, please? Thank you.”

He nods and pops off to retrieve it from the cupboards. The doctor lightly touches your hand with her fingers, asking, “Can I see it? And can you tell me what happened?”

You nod, removing your hand from the wound. She unwinds the bandage and removes the gauze while you recount how you cut it, and she nods as she listens, exposing the gash. She blinks at the size of it, looking almost taken aback, and both you and Sid notice that it seems to have ripped open more again; it’s slightly longer at the top now.

Nonetheless, the doctor requests for stitching equipment from the nurse, then washes her hands before putting on some gloves. She starts to wipe at the skin around the gash, cleaning the blood away, until the wound is completely visible.

“Dear me. You really must have been running quite fast, to do such damage.” She murmurs. Sid’s chest tightens, and he feels a sense of guilt, since you were hurt running after him. Oblivious to his suffering, the doctor prepares a gentler cleaning solution that’s still stronger than water, before she sterilises a pair of tweezers and dips them in it. “This might hurt a bit. I just need to remove the little bits of bark that are still in it, so they don’t infect it. Is that okay?”

You nod, biting your tongue and giving a sound of agreement. She grins. “You’re very brave, you know. This is a severe wound, but you’re very calm. You should be proud.”

You smile wryly, but the pain in it is clear, especially when she starts to tweeze at bits bark and the alcohol comes into contact with the flesh around them. “It doesn’t seem that bad to me- ah, shit… ow.” Your leg tenses, pain flaring through it. Your fingers clench into a tight fist. “Sorry for swearing.”

The doctor just laughs. “Oh, please, I don’t mind. It helps to reduce pain perception, so have at it. I don’t mind at all; I swear like a sailor when I’m in pain.”

You groan. “Good to know.”

Sid steps up beside you now, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You okay?”

You manage a small nod. “As okay as I can be.”

The doctor speaks again, finishing up with tweezing the bark. “Aaron, can you take her details for me, please? She’ll be tired after this is done, so it’s better to get it out of the way now.”

He nods, taking the tablet the receptionist brought in earlier and tapping at it. He proceeds to get your information so they can document your treatment, all while the doctor once again cleans the wound with water. You react much more strongly now, breathing in sharply at the scorching of your thigh.

Seeing you suffering so much makes Sid’s insides crawl, and he strokes your hair in an attempt to soothe you. Eventually, he slips his hand into your clean one, letting you squeeze his to help cope with the treatment. You cling onto him hard, grip tight and powerful, but he doesn’t mind.

He’s helping you. He’s doing what he’s always wanted to do. He’s being there for you when no one else is.

A seemingly eternal wait later, the doctor and nurse pinch the flesh together, and then spend about fifteen minutes sewing the skin together. They do it tightly, pulling the wound closed hard, before securing the stitches together. Because of how many there are and how deep the wound is, she wraps your thigh in a bandage, securing it with surgical tape.

By this point, you’re exhausted, half asleep on the bed. Your hand is still gripping Sid’s for dear life, but he doesn’t mind, nor does he plan on moving away from you. The doctor finishes up and disposes of the equipment appropriately, then gives Sid a grin. “All done!”

He nods. “Thank you.”

She winks. “You’re welcome.” Your eyes drift open at their voices, gaze faraway and distracted. She smiles more gently, stepping up to be next to you.

“Right, ___. You’re all done here, but you’ll need to care for the stitches carefully while they’re in for the next few days. I’ll give you a leaflet on how to take care of them, but just keep them dry for at least three days, and then wait another week after that to have them taken out. You can just come back here, and I’ll do them for you, okay?”

You nod slowly, voice soft and quiet. “Okay. Thank you for your help.”

The doctor beams. “Of course. If you experience a persisting fever, cold sweats, fainting or repeated dizziness, make sure you come back, alright? Keep changing the bandage for three days, each day, and watch the wound for infection. Other than that, you’re done. You need to be gentle on your leg, though. No P.E. for the next two weeks at least, and even after that, be careful. Try to walk normally, but not for long periods of time. Try not to put too much strain on it.”

You sit up slowly, a slight tremor running through you. You let go of Sid’s hand, and he places it on your back to steady you. “Right. No P.E., be careful when walking, don’t do anything too strenuous. Look out for infection and signs of it.”

The doctor hums. “Perfect.” She crosses the room, retrieving a cleansing wipe and returning with it. “Here. You still have blood on your hand.”

You take it with a grateful smile, wiping the blood away, watching the flakes break off your skin. Sid takes his phone out. “I’ll call a taxi.”

Your smile moves to him, eyes appreciative. “Sorry. Thank you, Sid.”

He just smirks, ruffling your hair playfully. “Yeah, you’re welcome. Don’t worry about it.”

Not too long later, you’re leaning on Sid and walking out of the centre. The taxi waits for the both of you there, and you collapse into the back again, looking even less energised than before. Sid tells the driver where to go before moving his gaze to you, watching your deep breaths and closing eyelids. “Hey. Come here.”

Grateful once again for his help, and not caring in the slightest about how this looks, you drop against his side, letting him hold you there, arm around your back and fingers curled around your side. You relax against him, face nuzzled into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

He thanks whatever powers there are for letting him have a moment like this, a moment where he can almost pretend that you’re his. He etches the feeling of you there with him into his mind, basking in your warmth.

Soon, you pull up onto the road which connects to the path leading up to your house. Sid pays the driver again, then tugs you out of the taxi, steadying you when you sway slightly on your feet.

As soon as the taxi drives away, Sid looks around him. It’s completely silent and empty. He finds your keys in your bag, then guides you forward until you’re both stood on the path, trees obscuring you both from either side.

“Okay, Princess. I say that’s enough walking for you, today.” Hearing a slurred response from you, he snorts, hooking your arm around his neck. “Geez. You’re already half asleep. You’d be so screwed without me.”

He leans down, scooping you up and into his arms for the third time in two hours. You release an incoherent, mumbled insult, something that sounds like a swear. He laughs loudly, jogging up the path and to your house. The modern building gives him a sense of familiarity and safety, and he grins when he gets to the door, juggling you around so he can unlock it.

He takes you inside, closing the door and locking it behind him, before he carries you up the stairs. Navigating through the house as if it’s his own, he goes into your bedroom, heading straight for the bed.

“You owe me, ___.” He teases with a smirk, laying you down. Your eyes are barely open when you look up at him, but he can still see the glow of gratitude in them. You squeeze his arm, mumbling,

“I know. Thank you, Sid. Sorry for all this.” He shakes his head, sitting next to you and planting a hand on the pillow next to your head.

“Why are you saying sorry? You got hurt because of me, when it comes down to it, and the others. It’s fine. Besides, I got out of school for it, so I don’t exactly mind.” You laugh softly, amusement dancing in your eyes. He smirks. “You’re tired, right? You’ve been in a lot of pain. You can sleep; I’ll stay and deal with your mum and dad when they get in.”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to stay; you’ve already done so much for me today.”

He rolls his eyes, event though his heart is singing. “C’mon, help me out a bit here. I don’t want to have to go home and explain to my dad why I left school and didn’t tell the teachers.” You manage a small grin. He ruffles your hair again, basking in your quiet laugh. “Go to sleep, Princess.”

You sigh, but you don’t protest. “If you want to stay, that’s fine. If you want to leave, I am okay on my own, though. You know you can use anything in here, and just wake me up if you need me.” You glance down at your sock, then sit up all of a sudden, cursing, “Oh, shit. My socks have blood on them. Mum won’t be happy if I get it everywhere.”

You give him a tired smile, sliding off the bed sluggishly. You sway again when you’re up, and he immediately stands, taking hold of your arm to keep you up. “Thanks. I’m just going to get changed, so she won’t slaughter me.”

He nods, understanding. “Okay. Just try not to fall over, will ya? It’d be a waste of time to end up back in the E.R. again.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Oh, shush.”

He plops down on your bed after turning the TV and Xbox on, throwing off his coat and shoes. You find some shorts and a vest to sleep in, since it’s warm in your room and you need to keep the wound as open to the air as possible, before changing in the en suite. You chuck your uniform, except for your blazer, into the washing bag, then drape said item over the back of the sofa bed.

He glances at you when you come in, and immediately, he feels things he’s never once felt.

He feels conflict at staying, because this is very, very close to a simulation of being with you. He shouldn’t be here when you’re sleeping. His feelings are so strong, he doesn’t know how he’s going to cope with having you here. Seeing you in your shorts and vest sends heat flushing through him, your exposed legs and arms now stirring up sensations in him that he never imaged he’d feel with you.

You rub the back of your neck, wandering back to the bed, albeit slowly and with a slight limp. “Well, if we weren’t already best friends, we are now. You know you’ve reached the height of friendship when you can change into pyjamas and sleep while the other person’s still in your bedroom.”

You carefully climb under the covers before flopping down and burying your face in the pillow. He snorts at the action, fixing the covers around you so your back is mostly protected from the air… and him, he silently jokes to himself, mulling over your words.

“Yep. You’ve seen me in my pyjamas too, though, so we’re even.” He smirks down at you, seeing your body start to relax and go limp. His fingers brush your hair back, tucking it behind your ear. “Goodnight, Princess, even though it’s five to three in the afternoon.”

You huff into the pillow. “Shut up, Sid. G’night.”

He chuckles darkly, starting to play the game on the Xbox. It’s silent from then on. While he’s waiting for the level to load, he glances down at you. You’re breathing deeply already, eyes closed from what he can see of your face, and you appear to be asleep. You’re so peaceful and beautiful in sleep, so blissfully relaxed, that he doesn’t want to take his eyes off you. You’re leaving yourself in a vulnerable position, so close to him, because you trust him so much. You have that much faith in him.

You believe in him.

Smiling properly at his thoughts, he lets out a soft, breathy laugh.

 _She’ll be mine one day. It’ll take time, but I’ll make her mine._ **  
**

**♡** **♔** **♡**


	2. Part II | Giles | Care - 21st March 2014 | 15 | Year 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.
> 
> They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.
> 
> “We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”
> 
> So, why did things change, and how?
> 
> Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine the desks in the Wysterian Royal Academy are joined in this; when I wrote stuff for this story, the School Days event hadn’t happened, and I didn’t envision the classrooms looking how they did. Also, I thought it would work differently than in the MidCin universe, so the actual functioning of the school is a bit off, since I’m not familiar with how it would work in the way MidCin describes; here, most students don’t live in the dorms – they’re only for students who are permitted because of special circumstances.

**♡** **♔** **♡**

“Bonjour!”

“Bonjour, Madame.”

“Take a seat, guys.”

You sit down in your seat, immediately feeling a dreadful sense of unease. Louis sits next to you, lips pressed together tightly, a very light line of tension on his face. He glances at you, and you send him a look that expresses your concern back even more. You both look to the seat to your right.

_Giles isn’t in today. He’s never not in._

You let out a slow breath, fingers curling into fists. Worry grips your heart, making it difficult to ignore the instinctual feeling you get that something’s wrong.

_Giles… where are you?_

He hasn’t even let anyone know. If he had, you would have had such information passed to you from one of the others.

“___,” Louis murmurs softly, lightly resting his fingers on the top of your palm, skin warm against yours. “He must have good reason to be absent. It’s Giles; we should trust him, and trust that he’s alright.”

Your insides recoil, something nagging and pulling at them screaming that this is all wrong.

“Yeah.” You whisper back shakily, the teacher now starting the lesson properly. Louis moves his hand so it’s next to yours, the side of it still resting against your own. “I just have a bad feeling.” Not one to take chances, you shake your head slightly. “I’m going to his dorm later. I want to make sure he’s okay.”

Baby blue eyes stare at you, wide for a moment, before Louis drops his gaze. His eyelashes cast shadows against his cheeks as he mumbles, “Your instincts are never wrong. If you feel like you need to see him, I think it’s likely that you’re right.”

You manage a soft, weak smile; unfortunately, that’s exactly right. You can’t remember a time when your instincts have failed you or led you astray. “It’ll probably be something small, but I just want to make sure.”

He only nods. His little finger brushes over yours, almost as if he’s seeking comfort, sheltered by your position near the back of the class. You let yours drift up and settle over it, looping under to link with his gently. He exhales quietly, his own finger curling around just like yours. A smile graces your lips.

_The little things are the most important to us. It’s things like this that make us different. And none of us regret that at all._

**♡** **♔** **♡**

When the day ends and most of the students return home, or those permitted to stay in the dorms go back to their rooms, you stand at the gate. Sid, Louis, Robert, Byron, Nico, Albert, Alyn and Leo stand around you, looking dubious in synchronisation with one another. They’re all in the prefect uniforms, consisting of black blazers with white trims, white shirts, black pants and black boots, as well as gloves. Your uniform is similar, but by choice, you chose to have a skirt instead, and have black thigh-high socks on under your boots.

“None of us have heard from Giles. This is pretty weird, for him.” Alyn mutters, crossing his arms. He frowns. “Should we all go make sure he’s not dead? We don’t need to, right?”

Leo sends him a sideward glance, mouth attempting to curl up in a smile. “You’re always so sensitive, Alyn.”

Said Crawford scowls. “Shut up.”

“While we would normally go and see him,” Byron interrupts the bickering, voice cutting through it like a knife. “We have things to do in our dorm.”

You nod, understanding. “Of course. No one else needs to go; I just have a bit of a bad feeling, so I want to make sure he’s okay.”

Robert smiles kindly, eyes as gentle and tender as ever. He reaches out, placing a hand on your shoulder lightly. “Are you sure? I don’t mind coming, if you’d like.”

You nod, humming. “Yeah. I know you’ve got a lot of painting to do for your Art coursework, so don’t worry about it.” You lift your own hand, giving his a soft squeeze. “Thank you, though.”

He seems satisfied with this, and his head drifts up and down, before lifts your hand up to kiss your knuckle. You blink, surprised by the action, but then he is grinning teasingly, eyes sparkling with a friendly fondness that leaves you breathless. A slight blush forming in your cheeks, you can only let your hand drop to your side when he lets go. “Thank you, for making sure he’s alright. Let me know when you get there, and make sure you’re careful on your way home.”

You have to grin back at that, nodding. “I will.”

Sid pokes your cheek, drawing your attention to him. “Want me to hang around, and then walk you home? If it’s late, there’ll be idiots waiting around to do something stupid.”

Amused by his kind offer, you tilt your head, practically cooing, “How gentlemanly of you, Sid. Thank you, but honestly, I’ll be fine. Besides, you’ve got Romanian homework to get done, mister. Get to it.”

He glares down at you. You stifle a laugh.

Leo steps forward, reaching up to tuck a lock of your hair around his finger, twisting it before brushing it behind your ear. You try not to shiver at the almost ghostly touch. “Call me if you need anything, or Giles. You know I’m here to help. Okay?”

“Thanks, Leo. I know.” Happy, he slides his arms around your shoulders, tugging you into a hug before smoothing a hand over your hair. Not at all deterred by the action, you bind your own arms around his back, reciprocating the affection. He drops his chin on top of your head.

“You’re like a teddy bear, ___. I could cuddle you all day.” He sings out, once again causing your heartbeat to quicken. You let go of him, diverting your gaze to the side and mumbling,

“Thank you.”

He chuckles.

Not ten minutes later, you’re walking through the dorm corridors, for the most part empty and silent. After explaining that you’re going to see one of the students because he wasn’t in lessons, the dorm staff let you through without any hesitation, smiling you through.

You lower your gaze to your phone, eyes skimming over your Messenger message to Giles, sent several minutes ago.

 ** _Her Royal Highness ___:_** _I’m coming to your dorm to make sure you’re okay; everyone’s worried about you, and you haven’t contacted us all day. Are you alright?_

Nothing. Another minute or two passes, and you’re outside his door. Nothing again. You sigh, putting it away. You then knock on the door, calling softly, “Giles? Are you in there?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then what sounds like slow movement. Arching an eyebrow, you listen to the sound of shuffling, then of the lock mechanism moving and opening. More shuffling, followed by a thud.

_Wha-_

You all but throw yourself inside, mind lurching into panic. The door swings open, hitting the wall hard.

“Oh my God. Giles!” You all but scream, lunging forward. Giles is on his knees on the floor, him being the only thing out of place in his impeccably clean room. He is shaking, you see, and sweating. His breathing is laboured and shallow, and even with him facing away from you, you can see him clutching at his chest. He breaks down into violent coughs, ones that make his fragile frame rattle and tremble with each jolt of his chest.

You drop to your knees beside him, putting a hand on his back and cheek. “Giles, what happened? Is this the chest infection from the other day?”

He leans into your touch, looking dizzy and disoriented, gaze somehow faraway and detached. “Yes. It hasn’t quite… cleared.”

He’s burning to the touch, skin practically molten, and he’s paler than you’ve ever seen him. “You must be having an episode at the same time. This isn’t just a chest infection, Giles.” You let out a shaking breath, moving the hand on his back to his nape. It’s even hotter there. “Why didn’t you text or message us? You shouldn’t be dealing with this alone, Giles. This is severe; look at yourself.”

He sways where he sits, gaze trained on the floor, seeming to weaken for a second. He tips toward you, and you don’t hesitate in moving closer, letting him fall against you. He seems almost confused by this, but then he groans softly, shutting his eyes and collapsing into your form. “I’ve been in and out of sleep. I was going to contact you, but I didn’t have the strength, unfortunately. I admittedly struggled just to unlock the door.”

He starts coughing again, violently, harshly. You smooth your hand over his hair, brushing the other across his cheek, hushing him softly. “Breathe, Giles. Breathe for me. I’m here now, I’ll take care of you.”

You can hear him trying, can hear him attempting to catch his breath. A choked gasp escapes him, along with a pained, rasped, “You need not-”

“Giles Christophe, if I hear you make any sort of protest against this, I’m going to be even more intrusive and overbearing than I already am. I’m not leaving you, not when you’re like this. I’m staying until I’m happy that you’ve recovered.” You cut him off bluntly, still cradling him against you. He shudders in your arms, but nonetheless he sighs heavily, going limp. You can hear the straining of his throat every time he breathes. “Come on. Let’s get you into bed, and then I’ll take it from there.”

He nods weakly. You put his arm over your shoulder, holding it there, while you use the other to support his back. You heave the both of you up, practically supporting all of his weight, before you help him to get to the bed again. He collapses back, chest heaving, expression set in discomfort and pain. You stare down at him worriedly, only pulling the covers up to his chest, before you very gently stroke the damp strands of his hair away from his face. Your mouth tightens into a thin line, lower lip caught between your teeth with worry.

You hate seeing him like this. You hate that he’s hurting. You would do anything to take it away from him.

Standing up, you start your normal routine for when he has an episode; you go into his dorm room’s bathroom, retrieving his flannel and running it under the water. Then, you get some painkillers and a towel, along with a glass of water. You also get the antibiotics he’s been taking for the chest infection before returning to him.

His hand is clutching at his nightshirt, the space over his heart. You go to him and set the things down, perching next to him. Your hand finds his cheek again. “Giles, I need you to take your tablets. Are you okay to sit up a bit?”

A trembling, forced breath leaves his lips. He winces. “Yes.”

Despite his words, he can barely move on his own, and your stomach lurches with concern. This is definitely a much more severe attack than normal, and you’re honestly half tempted to take him to the walk-in centre if not the hospital.

You support him, helping to give him the tablets and holding the water to his mouth. After struggling through this, you put the water down, and he drops his cheek against your shoulder. His hand, having been on your back to steady himself, now clutches at the flesh there, not painfully so but enough for it to catch your attention.

“I apologise… that you have to do this.” He mumbles, words slow and sluggish, so different to his usual, perfectly fluent pronunciation. He swallows thickly, grasping at the small of your back like you’re his last lifeline. “Especially considering it’s Friday.”

You shake your head, kissing his hair softly, uttering back tenderly, “Giles, I don’t mind at all. I would never want you to be going through this on your own; I’m absolutely fine staying. And it being Friday is a good thing; it means I don’t need to go to lessons, and I can be here for you. Don’t you dare apologise; it’s completely out of your control.”

You have him lie down again, pick up the flannel and wipe it across his cheeks, then his forehead, before folding it and leaving it there. Popping into the bathroom again, you retrieve the thermometer he has, returning and asking quietly, “Can you open your mouth? I need to take your temperature. You’re really warm.”

His lips part, eyes now closed and breathing shallow. You put it in before closing his mouth, waiting for it to beep. You dab his face with the towel while you wait, then take it out once the noise sounds.

38.4°

You exhale quietly.

Definitely a fever. If it nears 40°C, you’ll have to take him to the walk-in for definite, and will most likely then have to go to the hospital.

“Is it really that bad?” Giles asks, sounding inappropriately amused. You turn the thermometer off and put it back in its case, then head over to the window, opening it wide. The wind is slightly chilly, but once you move back to the bed, the air is warmer and you notice it less.

“You have a fever. You’re 38.4 degrees, so you’re not too bad yet. If it gets anywhere near 40, though, I’m taking you to the walk-in.” Seeing him go to object, you clamp a hand over his mouth. “Shush. I’m not budging; over 40 is considered hyperthermia, and that’s dangerous.”

His eyes flutter open, just enough for him to watch you with a hazy, lidded gaze. You remove your hand, sitting next to him again. He reaches for it with his own, and you take it gently, cradling it between yours.

He’s burning to the touch.

Shaking off your thoughts, you give his fingers a gentle squeeze, asking, “When was the last time you ate something?”

He forces in a deep, painful-sounding breath, murmuring, “I’m not quite sure. Possibly yesterday afternoon; the attack came on quickly after school, and I simply stayed in bed in the hopes that it would ease off.” He chuckles, but it’s mirthless. “Evidently not.”

Your insides twist uncomfortably. You nod, glancing behind you at the room’s attached kitchen. You only realise now that the room’s door is still open, and you swiftly close it, locking it as well. Peeking in the fridge and cupboards, you make a mental note of what you can cook for him. Soup will be the easiest, and will be the least hassle for him to get down. You rummage through the cupboard, calling, “Do you think you’ll be able to eat some soup?”

He makes a sound of acknowledgement, coughing out, “Probably. But you really do not need to go to so much effort, ___. It will pass, as it always does.”

You pull out some tomato soup and the things you need to make it, not even looking at him as you respond, “I am doing this, Giles, because I want to. Considering that you have a chest infection  _and_  are having an episode, it might not just slide on by like the others. I’m not taking the risk of leaving you to it, even though I never have anyway, not by far. So, just shush, relax and let me take care of everything, okay?”

The soup now cooking, you send him a conspiratorial grin, winking playfully. “You can thank me when you’re back on your feet and in P.E., dancing wonderfully and making all the students swoon over you.”

He does laugh at that, albeit in a croaking, rough way. The sight of his smile sends your heart racing with relief. “I wouldn’t quite go so far, but thank you, ___. Truly. I’m grateful for you being here.”

Your grin doesn’t fade. Your gaze returns to the soup. “You’re welcome, Giles. This is what friends are for.” You let out a light chuckle, joking, “I’m always here to take care of you lot. I’m sure you’ve realised that by now.”

He nods, and you see it out of the corner of your eye, still stirring the soup. “Indeed you do. We all appreciate what you do for us so much, ___. I want you to know that. Particularly in the likes of Leo, Alyn, myself and Louis, you’ve mended and fixed gaps in our lives that we didn’t think would be possible to eliminate. For that, we’ll never be able to thank you enough.” He reciprocates the conspiratorial grin now. “Even with all the languages in the world, there aren’t enough words.”

Your cheeks warm slightly at that, a smile breaking across your lips. Your heart squeezes in your chest with joy. “Good. That’s what I want to do, and keep doing. I just want you all to be happy; you deserve it.”

Finished making the soup, you tip it into a bowl, then retrieve a spoon and rinse out the pan quickly. Taking the bowl over, you set it down on the bedside table, prompting, “Now, sit up a bit. I don’t want you to choke to death on the thing that’s supposed to make you better.”

He just rolls his eyes, albeit playfully. You help him to sit up, asking, “Can you eat it yourself?”

He hums, eyes taking on an impish twinkle. You already know his answer. “Is there an alternative option?”

You raise an eyebrow, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”

He grins, granted slightly weaker than before. “You spoil us. You should just say no, if you wish not to do it.”

You flick him on the forehead lightly, a habit you seem to have picked up from Alyn, and partially from Leo. “Oh, I know. One day I might just do that.” You put the bowl in your lap, picking up the spoon and blowing on the soup for a moment. “But today’s not that day. I don’t mind, despite the fact that I do spoil you lot way too much sometimes. Even so, you always do it for me, even when I insist that you  _don’t_.”

He looks almost proud at the last part, and not in the slightest remorseful. He coughs. “You hardly allow us to spoil you, so I will take any opportunity I can to do so. Besides, you’ve taught me that it is better to have someone take care of you when sick, so I want you to have that as well.”

You hum, lifting the spoon to his mouth carefully. He eats it and lets his head fall back against the pillow, making a sound of contentment. Your lips twitch up. “I do let you spoil me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “When, exactly?”

Your mind comes up blank. You run through the things they do for you, thinking about things that would qualify as “spoiling” you. “Er…”

His lip curls up now, ghosting into a smug smile. “I’ll take that as a sufficient answer.”

You frown, still wracking your brains. You spoon out more soup. “Shush and eat your soup, Giles.”

He smirks, but he doesn’t say anything more.

Once he’s done with his soup, granted having coughed several times between spoonfuls, you lie him back and dampen the flannel again, dabbing at his face gently. You take his temperature again once his mouth isn’t as hot from the soup, seeing it to be 38.5°C. A fine tremor soon starts to rattle through him, and you observe him starting to sweat more, body shaking and dehydrating itself to push through its own defence mechanism.

You continue to wipe at his skin and have him drink water, so he won’t lose too much through sweating and make himself more ill. You’ve removed your blazer by this point, not wanting it to get creased, along with your shoes. You sit cross-legged on his bed next to him, monitoring his breathing closely. His eyes are closed, face leant against your palm, nuzzling your skin.

Your eyes rise up, staring out of the window. The sun is low on the horizon, dropping low to the side of the school buildings, sky a blazing fire. You check your phone, seeing that it’s nearly six in the evening.

It’s only now that you see a collection of messages on your lock screen, all from the group chat you have with the boys. The nicknames make you smile; the likes of Albert, Alyn, Byron, Giles and Louis weren’t exactly fond of them, but Nico, Leo and Sid kept changing them, and eventually the five gave up reverting them back.

 _**Picasso to The Royal Squad:** _ ____, are you alright? Are you at Giles’ dorm?_

 _ **Terminator to The Royal Squad:**  _ _I’d suggest you reply swiftly, considering that you said you would inform us of Giles’ condition._

 **_The CEO to The Royal Squad:_ ** _While I think Albert phrased it… differently, I concur._

 _ **Too Cute For You to The Royal Squad:**  _ _Albert gets mean when he cares ;) he loves you and Giles really, ___. If he’s there with you, tell him Albert misses him <3_

 **_Terminator to The Royal Squad:_ ** _Don’t you dare._

 **_Too Cute For You to The Royal Squad:_ ** _He’s in denial. Trust me on this!_

 **_The Sexy Crawford to The Royal Squad:_ ** _I’m expecting Nico to go missing after today. Is Giles okay, ___? You got to his dorm alright, didn’t you?_

 _ **The Scary Crawford to The Royal Squad:**  _ _You’re all idiots._

 **_The Scary Crawford to The Royal Squad:_ ** _Seriously, ___, answer us. Are you in Giles’ dorm? He’s not dead, right?_

 _ **Ice Sculpture to The Royal Squad:**  _ ____, is Giles’ chest infection getting worse? Is that why he was off today?_

 **_Low-Key Informant to The Royal Squad:_ ** _Look at Icy, thawing out and starting to care over Giles. Didn’t think you had it in you, ice cube._

 _ **Ice Sculpture to The Royal Squad:**  _ _Shut up._

 **_Low-Key Informant to The Royal Squad:_ ** _Make me, Icy ;)_

Your smile has been growing as you’ve read through the messages, and now you grin softly. Giles has been watching you the whole time, and he arches an eyebrow, asking in a hoarse voice, “What is it?”

You move around so that you’re sat next to him, letting him see the chat and read through the messages himself. “I forgot to tell them that I got here fine and that you’re alright. They’re all worried about you, even if some aren’t as explicit about it.”

His amber hues skim over the messages swiftly, and his lips turn up toward the end, even through his expression of discomfort and pain. “How kind of them. Please, assure them that I’m quite alright and will be back in school on Monday.” The smile turns impish. “I’m in very capable hands, after all, Madame.”

You shake your head, but you’re grinning. “I’ll decide if you’re well enough to go back, Monsieur.” You reply lightly, starting to reply to them all.

 _ **The Princess to The Royal Squad**_  :  _I’m in Giles’ dorm, don’t worry. His chest infection hasn’t cleared up so he’s still on the mend, and his illness has come back again, so that’s why he wasn’t in. I’m taking care of him, so he should be well enough to come back in on Monday, but that’s not certain even if he says so. He’s just seen all the messages, and he says thank you._

Giles hums lowly, reading the message as you write it. He soon closes his eyes, though, letting out a soft groan. You send the message, then put your phone down, heartbeat quickening. “Giles? What’s wrong?”

He sighs heavily, swallowing hard. His head moves slightly, just drifting to the side and back enough to notice. “Nothing. I’m just slightly dizzy. I fear the chills may return again soon.”

Your face softens. His head comes to rest on your shoulder, face pressed into your shirt. You reach a hand up to stroke his hair, resting your cheek against it. You start to dab his skin with the flannel again, murmuring, “Is there anything I can do?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, he replies, almost sighing out, “Perhaps you could sing for me again. My asking must be troublesome, but-”

“Don’t say sorry. Don’t be guilty. You know I don’t mind, Giles; I’ve asked you to sing for me in the past, as well.” You clear your throat, shifting so you can breathe more easily. “Tourner Dans Le Vide?”

He hums again, sounding much more tired.

_He always asks me to sing this. It’s our song. Every time he has an episode, I sing it for him. It helps him through the pain._

You start murmuring the words in French, lulling, smooth, flowing like water. To many, the words would mean nothing, but you both understand them. You speak them in an almost fluent accent, pronunciation strong and sure, irresistible and impossible to ignore. It’s so soothing, so soft but powerful, and the words mean so much.

Even in his state, mind in a haze and thoughts scattered, your voice calls out to him. It reaches into the dark, through all the pain and loneliness, through the gripping guilt he shouldn’t feel for having his illness. It holds him in its arms and assures him that it’s alright, that you’re here and he’s safe. He wants nothing more than for you to just stay here, to remain beside him, even though he knows it’s selfish and risky for you. You could catch his chest infection and come down with it yourself, and you being here could cause even more rumours if anyone were to find out or put two and two together.

But you can’t leave. God, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do when you go home later. It’s going to break his heart.

His throat tightens, but it’s not the chest infection or illness. It’s the swell of emotion rising up in him, sending his pulse up and making his heart ache in his chest.

_Maybe it’s just irrational thoughts from the culmination of sickness, but…_

He swallows thickly, trying to settle himself before you notice.

_I don’t want her to go. I can’t stand the thought of her departing, even though it’s selfish and cruel._

He imagines you leaving, going home to revise. He thinks about how Leo will go to your house out of the blue sometimes to do the same, and he images you spending the evening laughing with him, and him acting how he always does. Teasing you. Making you giggle with inappropriate jokes or “dorky” jokes. Getting too damn close to you and making the blush he loves rise in your cheeks. Touching you. Hugging you.

Loving you.

A sharp pain strikes him in the chest, drawing a soft gasp from him.

_Why am I…_

“Giles? What is it? What’s wrong? Is it getting worse? Giles!”

_She’s still calling out to me. She stopped singing. If only she’d keep singing; it might calm my rage just slightly._

He feels your hands on his face, your own close now, body turned to face him fully. Light, fleeting touches on his skin tell him that you’re checking his temperature, trying to work out what’s wrong. He can feel himself shaking, but he honestly doesn’t know why, now.

_Perhaps it’s illness. Perhaps it’s pain. Perhaps it’s overheating._

He internally scowls.

_Perhaps it’s jealousy._

“Giles, talk to me. Come on, say something. Otherwise, I’m calling an ambulance right now and I’m taking you to A&E. I swear on my life, Giles, I will.”

_No. This is love._

His eyes fly open, throat constricting further.

You sit before him, face lined with deep, unsettling worry. You’re staring straight at his face, eyes awash with emotions, swirling and pulsating in the hues. It’s breathtaking, even despite the concern in them.

_You sweet, sweet girl. You beautiful, wonderful blessing._

“Giles, oh my… don’t do that to me. Don’t…” You heave out a trembling breath, head dropping, hanging down above his chest. His pupils dilate at the vulnerability slipping into your voice, and the weakness threaded through it, such a polar opposite to how you usually sound. Your hands lower down, resting on the cover on either side of him, seemingly supporting you when another tremble rattles you. “Don’t do that to me. I thought… damn it…”

_Ah. This pain must be falling in love._

“Princess…” He utters, voice ever so tender. Your eyes squeeze shut, having been trained on the cover. He wants to comfort you. It’s his fault that you’re feeling so shaken. “Come here.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you forward so that your upper body is draped across his own. He settles your head against his chest, feeling you curl your own arms around his middle. Your warmth could melt him, the sense of security and contentment he feels from having you like this unparalleled.

_Nothing else comes close. No one else comes close. When it comes down to it, she is all I have. My family despise my existence. The others are, while true friends now, friends by association. Other than Robert, in a sense, none of them chose to know me._

He releases a long, slow breath, leaning down to kiss your hair. “I’m sorry. I just had a pain in my chest. I think I moved oddly; I’m fine. It just took me by surprise.”

You haven’t quite stopped shaking yet, even though it’s barely noticeable now. You press your face into his chest harder. “Good. You weren’t responding, so I thought… I panicked… I just…”

His hand rests on your head, and he presses down just enough to communicate that you needn’t go on. You trail off, leaving the room silent once more. He sighs. “I know.”

Hours pass after this. You continue with your routine, trying to bring his fever down, having him eat again in a little while to keep his strength up, and making sure he’s drinking. You make him tea as well, to ease his throat. In a blink of an eye, it’s nearly nine o’clock, and you’re torn.

On one hand, you know you should leave.

But you don’t want to leave him. You don’t trust his health, not when his body is battling an illness that’s plagued him for years alongside a chest infection that’s gripping him like iron.

The others continue to talk on messenger, asking how things are going and when you’re going home. You can’t bring yourself to answer the last question, and Giles sees this easily.

_Perhaps she doesn’t want to leave. If she did, she would tell them when._

“___,” He murmurs. You glance up, lowering your phone, on alert immediately. His heart sings with happiness. “Is something the matter?”

You purse your lips for a few seconds. You don’t want to make this sound rude. “No. I’m just worried that you might decline during the night. It’s unlikely, but if you suddenly deteriorate-”

“Stay.”

The word leaves his lips, confident. You won’t consider it if he’s hesitating himself, so he presents you with the option, making it clear he has no qualms about it.

You stiffen, surprise written all over your face. “Stay?”

He nods. “It’s rather late now. I know I’ve already imposed on you by having you here,” He ignores your disapproving frown, pushing on. “And of course you must want to go home, but you can stay if you want to. It’s late now, and I hate the thought of you having to get the bus home at this time. This is if you want to, of course. I will be fine on my own, I’m sure, so don’t worry about me when making your decision.”

Your stomach clenches. What do you want?

You don’t want to leave at all. You don’t particularly  _want_  to go home at all, for any reason. You’d much rather be here, both for his health, but also because you like spending time with him. It’s an honour to know that he’s comfortable with you staying here overnight.

But, along with that, there’s something else. Some other force in you, compelling in you a desire to remain by his side, to stay with him. You don’t know what that something is.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me staying?” The words leave you automatically. He takes your hand in response, his grip weaker than normal but somehow still firm. He lifts it to his mouth, brushing a kiss over the knuckles.

“I’m absolutely certain. It is your choice, but you are welcome to stay if you wish. I will simply notify the office that you are staying; I am permitted to have two guests stay overnight for three nights, if I wish, so it is not a problem.” He reassures you, voice calming. You nod slowly.

With your free hand, you open messenger, opening your chat with Sid. He’s been particularly persistent about knowing if you’re walking home; he’s become quite protective of you, and prefers for you to not be out at night if possible, since there are some dangerous people in the city that he knows of. Your nicknames in the chat are different here, since it’s the personal one and not the group one, just for you and Sid.

 _ **Princess Kickass**_  :  _I’m staying over in Giles’ dorm. I don’t want him to be on his own if he suddenly gets worse, so I’ll be home tomorrow, instead. You don’t need to worry :)_

Sighing to yourself at the most likely irritated response you’re going to get, you open up your texts, sending one to your mum. You told her before of the situation, and she said that she’s leave you to judge the circumstances yourself, but that she didn’t mind if he needed you to stay overnight.

She’s always been like that. She understands everything. She knows and trusts you, completely confident that you’re not doing anything dangerous or potentially bad. If you say you need to stay at one of their houses, she knows that you mean you’re sleeping over, and that’s it. When one of them stays in your house, she knows that nothing more than sleeping happens.

She’s never had reason to doubt it. If she ever believed the boys didn’t have pure intentions, she would’ve taken you from them immediately.

 ** _____  :**  _I’m staying over in Giles’ dorm; he’s allowed to have guests stay overnight, so it’s okay on that front, and he doesn’t mind. I just don’t want him deteriorating through the night and being on his own._

Giles sees the text, and something deep in him coils, tightening and warming. You’re staying with him. You trust him enough to be willing to stay the night, even if it’s just to make sure he’s okay.

He retrieves his own phone, calling the number for the office downstairs. Dorm students barely use it, but he can’t exactly go down and speak to them himself. They’ll be in the office until ten, so it’s not too late to tell them you’re staying.

“Hello?” The receptionist, Giles recalls to be called Declan, answers. He sounds exhausted.

“Hello. This is Giles Christophe; I’m one of the dorm students. I was wondering if it would be alright if I have a guest stay in my room for the night.” Giles explains, voice cracking in the middle. He hears the tapping of keyboard buttons on the other side.

“Giles Christophe… Dorm B?” He asks.

“Yes, room 1.” Giles confirms. Declan hums.

“Quiet dorm, that one. Barely anyone up there.” There’s more typing. You tilt your head, listening to the conversation curiously. Giles smiles, patting the space next to him. You crawl over, sitting next to him and resting your head against his so you can listen. “Right. Just one?”

“Yes.” Giles nods.

“Right. I’ll need to sign them in, so we can call for them if there’s a fire or anything. Are they there?” He asks. Giles nods again, glancing to you. You return the gesture, fine with them taking your name.

“Yes, she is. I’ll give her the phone.” He answers. He hears Declan chuckle, murmuring,

“Friend. Right.” Giles raises an eyebrow, very swiftly unamused.

“She’s here because I was absent from school today with a chest infection, and an attack from an already existing chronic sickness I suffer from. If you check my records, you’ll see that it can be debilitating at times, as it was today. She is staying to ensure that my condition doesn’t deteriorate through the night, leaving me severely ill without anyone there to assist.”

Declan is completely silent for a long few seconds. “O-Oh. Sorry. I didn’t realise.” He clears his throat awkwardly. More tapping. “Can I have her name, please?”

Giles gives you his phone, and you take it, answering clearly. “___ _____. I’m a student here as well.”

Even more tapping. Finally, he makes a sound of approval. “Ah, okay. Got it. Well, that’s fine. If you want extra bedding, you can buy it down here if you want; unfortunately, we can’t just give them out for free. It’s £5 for one person.”

Giles shakes his head, holding his hand out for the phone. You arch an eyebrow, but do it nonetheless. “That’s quite alright. I have spare bedding myself, so it’s not a problem, thank you.”

Another cleared throat from Declan. Giles’ expression flattens, and you roll your eyes. “Okay. That’s it, then. If you do get really sick in the night, come down to the infirmary and ring the bell; we’ll sort you out, even if you need to get to the hospital.”

Giles sighs. “Thank you. I will.”

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

He hangs up, rolling his eyes to himself. “He’s a fool.”

You shake your head, staring up at the ceiling. “They all are. No one seems to be able to think around social norms and stereotypes, and actually believe that it’s nothing like what they expect. It’s ridiculous.”

He just clears his throat himself, feeling it scratching like sandpaper. “They’re oblivious and ignorant to anything that’s not seen all of the time. They stand by traditional roles that no longer apply simply because they don’t seem to have the capacity to think otherwise. There’s little point in trying to merely tell them that they don’t understand.”

You groan quietly, and he smiles, trying to ease the tension he can feel building in you. “Try to forget about it. Change will come with time.”

You sigh but nod, glancing down at your phone. Sid and your mum have replied, it seems. “They’ve replied.”

Both of you watch as you open Sid’s message first.

 ** _Kickass Informant_ : ** _Right. Be careful when you leave, since people could catch on, and they’ll have even more stuff to make rumours about. What are you going to do about clothes and toiletries?_

You blink. You hadn’t thought about that.

Giles responds to the question calmly, having already considered this earlier. “Worry not. I have several spare toothbrushes, since there is always the possibility that one of us might need to come over, particularly the likes of Leo and Alyn. As for clothes, I can see if something of mine fits you, if you’d like; I don’t mind.”

You nod; you don’t have your P.E. uniform with you since you don’t have it on a Friday, and sleeping in your uniform when you’ll probably go home in it is a bad idea. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

He nods back. “Of course.”

You find yourself grinning, a sudden thought popping into your head. “I mean, I’d let you wear my clothes if you needed to, but somehow I don’t think it would work.”

He lets out a rasped bout of laughter. “Indeed. I know you would, but unfortunately I don’t think I’d fit into any of your clothes.” His eyes sparkle. “That said, I’m wondering how well my clothes will fit you; you’re rather short, compared to me.”

You send him a glare, although it’s half playful. “Oh, shush. I’m vertically challenged. Sue me.”

He sits up now, limbs stiff and aching. “Well, it’s about time I stood anyway, since I’ve all but cemented myself into the bed for the best part of the last day.”

You stand up, but you hover next to him, ready to catch him if he falls. “Are you okay? Do you feel dizzy?”

He shakes his head. Ironically, he does it slowly, as if he is dizzy. “No. The most recent wave of it seems to have passed for now.” He pushes himself to his feet, testing his balance. He’s slightly unsteady, but he can manage. You remain next to him as he walks over to the wardrobe, opening it and almost seeming to file through his shirts.

Despite knowing that this is all platonic and innocent, it’s still an odd feeling. You’ve only ever had to wear their shirts or jackets on rare occasions, usually ones out of your control, but never for sleeping in. That’s let alone for sleeping in while you’re in the same room as them.

He finally pulls out a long, burgundy button-up shirt, one that seems long even for him. “If I recall correctly, I bought this in the wrong size some time ago, but I forgot to return it. I can’t think of the reason why; I think it might’ve had something to do with my family.” He muses, voice turning solemn at the end. Still, he offers it to you, asking, “Would you like me to see if I have any trousers you can wear?”

He glances down at your legs very briefly, narrowing his eyes. “Although, I suspect they’ll be rather long on you, with all due respect.”

There’s a very strange sensation in your stomach, like a tiny flipping or bouncing feeling. You wonder why, taking the shirt and holding it close to you. “Um… yeah.”

He can see that you’re blushes. He grins impishly, eyes practically sparkling with that teasing glint he has so often with you. “My, my. It appears that you’re blushing.”

You immediately frown, but your heart instinctively thuds harder; it always does when they tease you like this. “I’m not.”

He decides not to push you any further, considering the circumstances. He merely nods, gesturing toward the bathroom. “Would you like to change in there? You can brush your teeth as well; the spares are in the cabinet above the sink.”

Your head bobs up and down swiftly; you’re eager to leave, so you can try to calm your burning skin. “Yeah. Thank you.”

You head in after grabbing your deodorant and hairspray from your bag, then shutting the door and locking it. Shaking your head, you try to calm yourself, not understanding why you’re feeling nervous.

_Leo always sleeps over, and I can be in the same bed as him without thinking anything of it._

You slip out of your clothes, using the deodorant before dropping the shirt over your head. It slides on without you needing to open any of the buttons, and quite literally comes down to just above your knees, hanging loosely around your body.

_Then again, I’ve never slept in Leo’s shirt around him. I think I’m just nervous about that, especially since he might not find any trousers that will fit me and I’ll be partially naked._

Your blush worsens. You sigh again.

Once you’ve brushed your hair, you do your teeth as well, then splash some water on your face to cool it. Drying it and collecting your clothes, you nudge open the door.

Giles is stood next to his bed, a fresh change of clothes draped over one arm. A pair of trousers are laid out on the cover. He turns to you when you come out, clothes folded neatly and hugged to your stomach, lower legs and the tops of your thighs exposed. You’re pretty sure you’re blushing again.

He maintains a calm exterior, but internally, he’s in pieces.

_Heavens above. How cruel of the world, to have me realise that I’m sinful enough to love the one girl I should never feel anything close to attraction for, and then to practically simulate the privilege of having her live with me mere hours later._

He watches you step in, obviously nervous and understandably so, but also blushing.

_She’s so sweet, so innocent and pure in this respect. Beautiful._

“These are the smallest trousers I can find for sleeping in, and while they’re shorter than the rest, they might not still fit around the waist; they’re tailored toward the male physique, which is significantly different to yours. Still, you’re free to try them, if you’d like. I’m going to have a quick shower, if that’s alright, since I’ve been sweating on and off all day.”

He explains, moving through the room to the bathroom. You step out of the way, nodding mutely. He smiles softly, trying to ease your nerves. “___, if you’re not comfortable, you need only say. I can arrange for you to go home.”

He thinks you don’t want to stay? You must look more terrified than you thought was possible. “No, that’s not it. I was just going to say thank you, for lending me the shirt.”

He just nods, but you can see his own appreciation in his gaze, for you staying and helping him. He goes into the bathroom, shutting the door. You let out a slow exhale, putting your clothes on top of your bag, then trying the trousers on. They’re still at least six inches too long, enough to stand on, and they’re loose around your hips to the point of falling off; you’re shaped differently to him.

You shake your head; they’ll probably fall off in the night, so there’s no point wearing them just for that. You pad over to the bathroom door, knocking on it. “Giles, the trousers are probably going to fall off in the night, so I’ll just sleep in the shirt if that’s okay.”

The door opens, and he studies the garment, currently held up by you on one side. He nods; trying to sleep in them would be ridiculous. “Of course. Just leave them on the bed; I’ll sort them out once I’m out.” He crosses his arms habitually. “As for sleeping arrangements, I’ll sleep in the armchair. You can have the bed, of course.”

You don’t even have the capacity to be surprised; you simply fix him with a dry look. “Giles, tell me you’re joking.” He shakes his head. You blink. “That will make your condition ten times worse. You need to sleep properly; I’ll stay in the armchair. I’m smaller, so I can sleep in it easily.”

While he understands your logic, he knows it won’t be comfortable, so he holds his ground. “While that is true, it will be at least slightly uncomfortable, and will also not be as warm. You’re already at increased risk of becoming sick by staying here, so it would be foolish for you to sleep there.”

He smiles wryly. “Besides, do you think I am incapable of waiting for you to fall asleep in the armchair and then carrying you back to the bed? Despite my weakened condition, I will do it regardless. That is a promise.”

You huff, disgruntled. “And I’ll just wake up every time and go back to the chair.”

_So stubborn. Somehow, it’s endearing._

He hums, amusement dancing in his eyes. “We shall see, Princess.”

And with that, he closes the door again, leaving you biting your tongue to hold back a smart-mouthed retort.

_Really. I can sleep in the armchair just fine. I’ll simply wait until he falls asleep to drift off, and then he can’t stop me._

Satisfied with your plan, you take the trousers off, then get to work fixing the bed covers so they’re nice and neat again. Setting the trousers down at the bottom, you then root around for the extra bedding he talked about. You find it in the wardrobe, a thick blanket and pillow in the top part, and pull them out before closing the doors again. Wandering over to the armchair, you put the pillow on the arm of it and drape the blanket over one side, the sound of the shower keeping you updated as to what Giles is doing.

Finally done, you get your phone, then plop down onto the armchair and get settled. It’s quite comfortable, you observe absently, and you can fit in it entirely if you tuck your knees up to your chest.

Wrapping the blanket around yourself, you try to ignore the chill from the open window; you don’t want to close it, considering how bad Giles’ chest is, so you’ll just have to get on with it for the night. That’s not a problem.

It’s now that you realise you haven’t replied to Sid, or your mum. You open up your messages, typing a reply.

 _ **Princess Kickass**_ :  _I’ll be careful. Giles has lent me a shirt to wear, but all of his trousers are too long so I couldn’t borrow any of them. I’ve got deodorant and a hairbrush from my school bag, and then Giles has spare toothbrushes, so I’m fine._

Next, you go to your texts, opening the one from your mum.

 ** _Supreme Mother_ :** _Okay. As long as you’re sure and comfortable, that’s fine. Do you need me to bring anything over for you? I can bus it over if you want anything._

You smile, shaking your head.

 _ **___**_  :  _I’m sure. And no, I’m okay; Giles has already said I can borrow his clothes to sleep in, and he let me use a spare toothbrush, so I’m fine._

Locking your phone, you rest it on your stomach, tugging the cover around you tighter. You can definitely feel the brunt of the wind coming in through the window, and it’s freezing. The blanket does ward it off, though.

About ten minutes later, Giles comes back into the main room, in his fresh clothes and his hair damp but it its usual pony. He rubs at it with a towel, eyes settling on you, eyelids drooping slightly where you lie. They open when he comes in, and you give him a slightly sarcastic smile. “Hi.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Hello. Are you really going to insist on doing this?”

You smirk. “Yep.” He shakes his head. You notice that he doesn’t look as flushed and excessively warm now, and he looks more aware than earlier. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly, better than before. Still sick, of course, but the chills and fever have for the moment ceased.” He walks over to the window now, behind you, and you can smell the shampoo he uses when he breezes by. He shuts the window, then closes the curtains. “This doesn’t need to be open now, considering that my temperature is normal once more.”

_Damn. That was going to make staying awake easier._

“Are you sure? You should still let some air in.” You ask, secretly hoping he’ll open it again so you can execute your little plan. He simply nods, though, giving you a cool smile.

“Yes. I think it’s gotten rather cold in here now, despite my raised temperature, so it’s best that it remains closed.” Exhaling softly, he finds his phone, then tugs the blanket off the bed. Your eyes go wide.

“Wha-” He grins, sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, draping the cover over himself. He croaks out a laugh at your baffled expression, only succeeding in doing it harder when you throw yourself up, glaring down at him. “Are you serious, Giles? That’s going to be awful for your chest! Get into bed right now!”

He shakes his head. “It’s hardly fair for me to get the bed when you’re in the chair, so now we’ll be experiencing equal levels of discomfort.”

You scowl. “I swear…”

Huffing, you bounce up from the chair, grabbing your own blanket and storming over. Now it’s his turn to be confused. “___-”

“Nope. If you’re sleeping here, so am I.” You mutter indignantly, dropping down beside him and pulling your own blanket around yourself. You glare at him from the side, seeing him now looking simply amazed by your actions.

“You truly are unbelievable.” He murmurs, shaking his head. You give him a poison-sweet smile, not looking remotely remorseful.

“So are you.” You both fall silent, him staring at you with a raised eyebrow and you glaring back. Your own eyebrow comes up, and you eventually speak. “You do realise that you’re sick and more fatigued than me, right? You’re going to fall asleep first regardless. I’m pretty good at staying awake.”

He remains quiet, processing the thought.

_That’s true. I’ll have to resolve this before my sickness prevents me from doing so._

“I suppose I’ll just have to tire you out, then, so that you will fall asleep before me.” He responds, already putting a little action plan together. A slight frown comes back on your face, but he can see the slight uncertainty in your eyes; you know he’s probably going to be capable of doing what he says he will.

“And how are you going to do that?” You challenge him, crossing your arms. He gives you that perfect, majestic smile once more.

“I have several methods to ensure my success. This is the first.”

Without further warning, he reaches out, grabbing you by your waist and tugging you toward him. You let out a squeak of surprise, but it swiftly turns into a surprised laugh as his fingers prod at your ribs. He tickles you mercilessly, trapping you in his grip expertly to counteract his weakness. You try to stifle your giggles, but you can’t muffle the exhilarated cry that leaves you when he tickles your stomach.

“N-No, Giles! That’s not- not fair! St-op it! Aah!” You gasp out, swatting and pushing uselessly at his hands. He grins away, almost madly, locking you in his arms, your back now pressed against the right side of his chest. “S-Someone will hear!”

His eyes sparkle, alive with an energy he’s never felt before. He traps one of your arms at your side with his own, bringing the hand of that arm up to clamp over your mouth. He grins playfully, continuing his torture with his free hand. “Well then, I’d suggest you surrender, or quickly learn how to laugh silently.”

You let out another scream, but it’s very quiet now, the sound concealed by his hand. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from laughing, but he can see that you’re not uncomfortable. He knows what that looks like from when people outside of the boys have tried to touch you. This isn’t that, not by far.

“… ky… sp! Sndr!”

He hears the breathless attempt at speech leave you, and he halts in his torture. Your chest heaves against him, body shaking like a leaf. He lifts his hand from your mouth enough to let you speak. “What was that?”

You send him a glare, cheeks damp and glaring, but you’re still smiling. You can barely stop the grin trying to spread across your lips. “I surrender. Fine. Happy?”

He smirks. You blink. “Wonderful.”

Moving as quickly as he can, he stands and hauls you onto your feet, then scoops you into his arms, holding you in the princess carry. “Giles! What the hell?”

He raises an eyebrow, turning to face the bed. “You surrendered. I’m taking that as a full surrender while I still can.”

Planting a knee on the bed, he deposits you in the middle, then grabs his cover and throws it over you. When you move to get off, he gently takes your wrists, staring straight at you, calm and composed once more. “___, trust me when I say that I will not sleep, voluntarily or otherwise, if you stay in the chair. Please, for the sake of myself if not you, sleep here. I will be much more willing to sleep if I am confident that you are entirely comfortable.”

Your frown returns. Your eyes seem to burst with emotions again, concern and frustration dominating the hues. You press your lips together. Assuming he’s won, he releases your wrists, standing up and turning to the chair.

Your fingers close around his wrist now. His head whips around, eyes settling on you, surprised and confused.

“I’ll only sleep here if you do as well. There’s enough room for us both. That’s my compromise; I won’t accept anything else.”

The strength in your voice could crush his composure. Are you really so certain? Do you really trust him so much to allow him to sleep in the same bed as you? Are you really so certain that you’ll be safe so close to him, especially when you’ll be vulnerable?

“Are you sure?” He asks, unable to stop himself. You nod.

“Yes. Don’t tell him you know this, but Leo can’t sleep on his own most nights, and never on a full moon. He tries to sleep in our spare room, but he ends up unable to. When he stays with me, he sleeps right through the night most nights. It doesn’t bother me.” Your eyes soften, fingers tightening around his wrist. “Please, Giles. I’m the same as you. I won’t sleep if I don’t think you’re comfortable, and that you’re in the best position to help your condition.”

You have him wrapped around your finger. He could never say no to you, not now, not when he can see the absolute certainty in your eyes.

But he can’t ignore the aching of his heart when he imagines you sleeping in the same bed as Leo.

He smiles softly, hues taking on a gentler glow. “Alright.”

You let go of his wrist and shuffle back, lying down on the left side of the bed. He lies down on the right side, tugging the cover up and over you both. You get comfy and stare at the pillow, while he lies on his back and tugs his hair away from his face. His breath hisses in an out of his throat in the silence, and you can hear the strain of his lungs with each intake. He looks flushed again.

“Is your temperature going up again?” You murmur, glancing up at him. He nods.

“I suspect so.” He takes the thermometer from the side, placing it under his tongue. When it beeps, he takes it out, peering down at it. “38.7°C, I think.”

You lean over to look at it as well, feeling the heat pouring from him. “Yeah. Let’s try to sleep, and then hopefully your body will be able to settle down while you’re unconscious.”

He nods, putting the thermometer back. “I agree.” He watches you burrow down into the covers, trying not to think about his earlier revelation in conjunction with the fact that you’re not wearing anything on your legs. You close your eyes, hair splayed out around you beautifully. “Goodnight, ___. Sweet dreams.”

Your lips curl up, gracing your features. You open one eye, meeting his gaze kindly. “Goodnight, Giles. Tell me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

From them on, it’s completely quiet. The lights go off, and the room is plunged into pitch black darkness. Smiling to himself, he starts to sing softly, lulling and humming the exact same words you sung earlier. Tourner Dans Le Vide.

He can sense you succumbing, mind numbed and slowed by his voice. The low vibrations sooth you, and he hears your breathing deepen, hears the shifting as your body goes limp.

And then you’re fast asleep, under deeply, well and truly in the world of dreams.

“Tourner dans le vide…” He sings for the last time, kissing your forehead, barely brushing the skin.

_Turn into the empty…_

Within minutes, he’s out as well, and he sleeps right through the night, sickness all but forgotten.

 **♡** **♔** **♡**

He wakes up first.

And he soon registers the sensation of having something in his arms, something comparatively smaller to himself, something beautifully warm and soft and fitfully asleep.

You.

He must have moved in his sleep, he realises; he’s in your side of the bed, his arms curled around you, hugging you to him protectively. You’re completely unconscious, oblivious to the debatably inappropriate touch.

_Breath-taking, even in sleep._

He wants to remain where he is, to keep you all to himself, but he knows it would be too risky. You can’t become suspicious of his newly-realised feelings.

He sighs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your hair. Then, he gently slides his arms away from you, slipping out from behind you before tucking you in again. He retrieves his phone, standing at the window.

He doesn’t expect to see so many messages from the others, nor does he expect it to be so late.

_You have 25 notifications from The Royal Squad._

01:27

He stiffens, peering through the curtain.

_It’s the afternoon. I’ve slept past noon. I haven’t done that for years._

He opens the messages, skimming through them. It’s full of the boys asking where you are, if you’re alright. The same goes for Giles, along with the typical arguing of the likes of Nico and Albert.

But there’s also a message from Sid, a personal one.

 _**All-Seeing Sid:** _ _Oi. You never sleep in this late. Nothing happened, right? I’m coming over soon; I went and got clothes from her house so she can change._

That was sent at one o’clock.

Giles presses his lips together.

 _**All-Knowing Giles:** _ _I was extraordinarily tired from the attack I had yesterday, so I slept in later than usual. Of course nothing happened; what would make you suspect so?_

He frowns. This is awfully serious for Sid.

_Why send a personal message, when the others have already sent them in the group chat? And to be so accusative, so suspicious and untrusting despite us being friends…_

He stills. A shill rolls up his spine.

_It can’t be… how on earth…_

Sid is always there for you. He’s always moving in first, getting what you need first, acting almost irrationally when he thinks something’s wrong with you. He knows you so well, despite being the last to join. He keeps you close, even when he doesn’t need to.

_He might just love her as well._

Pain throbs in Giles’ chest. He exhales, counting slowly, trying to settle the anger rising in him.

_Only now do I see it, because I desire to be like that as well._

He turns toward the door, crossing his arms. His eyes grow cold, braced for a fight.

_Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t scare me. Not in the slightest._

**♡** **♔** **♡**


	3. Part III | Leo | Honesty - 19th May 2014 | 15 | Year 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.
> 
> They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.
> 
> “We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”
> 
> So, why did things change, and how?
> 
> Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.

**♡** **♔** **♡**

Alyn and Leo sit in their dorm room in silence.

They’re in the academy, where they live permanently. They didn’t want to live in the Aubin Manor after everything was brought into the open, so, with the permission of the academy, they decided to move into the dorms.

Leo barely stays there, though. He usually goes to you on most nights, ever since the first night he slept at your house and managed to get a fitful, full night’s sleep and struggled to return to the dorm. Alyn doesn’t as often, only on bad nights or after rough days.

But now, they’re both sat across from each other. Leo stares up and out at the window, eyes never leaving the full moon. Alyn’s gaze remains on his hands. His shoulders are trembling, just slightly. Leo’s jaw is clenched tightly, eyes narrowed.

They both hate the full moon. Leo hates it more, but Alyn still loathes it.

Leo can’t get the images out of his head, the memories of seeing their parents dead on the floor with their throats slit, of Aubin running from the manor, of it burning before them both. It makes him feel sick and unsafe, nerves prickling. His foot taps against the laminate.

He won’t sleep tonight. He’s got school in the academy tomorrow, of course, but he knows he isn’t sleeping.

His eyes move to the bag near the door. It’s got a change of clothes in it for school, and is the one he takes with him when he goes to your house. It’s something he does nearly every day now, so he always has it ready and waiting. Alyn has one too, on the other side, although it’s not used as often.

They don’t want to be awake tonight. They want to be able to sleep.

Leo pulls his phone out of his pocket, the action drawing Alyn’s attention from his hands. He narrows the scarlet orbs, muttering, “You’re going?”

Leo stares down at the screen for a moment, absently tracing his fingers over the front. It’s saved him quite a few times, and Alyn, too. They’d probably be dead by now, if not for this little device.

Is he going?

He feels guilty for considering it, of course. Every time he goes, he initially intends to sleep in the spare room in your house, not wanting to disturb you and your sleep. But, he always ends up still rolling around, tossing and turning, waking up from nightmares. You always hear him, or just know that he’s not comfortable, and have gotten into the routine of going in to him.

Now, you simply hold your hand out to him, taking him up to your room and letting him stay in your bed. You’ll sing or murmur to him, stroking his hair and holding his hand, until he drifts off, and will continue to do so until he’s deeply asleep. You would do that for him in the spare room, but soon after leaving, he gets bad again.

He needs you with him to get through the night.

It makes him feel useless, needy and like an inconvenience, but you’ve told him the same thing time and time again.

_“Leo, I don’t mind. I want to help you. It doesn’t bother me at all; stop trying to hide your pain from me.”_

He wants you. He wants to feel safe again.

“Yeah.”

Alyn’s heart aches. His gaze returns to his hands.

He can get through the night on his own. Well, the normal nights, anyway. He can shake off the guilt and anger of not being able to protect his parents and sleep fitfully. On full moons, though, he can’t do it. He’s too aware, too painfully focused, on the memories of that night.

He’s come with Leo to your house several times to sleep over, in moments of desperation and need for someone to cherish him. When he’s been weak and wanted someone to make him sure of himself again, he’s given in and run to you, even sneaking out of the dorm to go to your house.

And he hates the thought of being on his own, now that he knows what it’s like to have you to support him.

He wants you too. He wants you close to him, someone he can finally trust with his heart and emotions.

“I’ll come with you.”

Leo simply nods, not questioning him. He has no reason nor right to.

He calls your mobile, lifting his own phone to his ear. It’s nine, so it’s not too late and you shouldn’t be in bed yet. You’ve advised them both to call and come over as early as possible, so they don’t have to sneak out late and be out on the streets in the dark late into the night-time.

The dialling tone sounds for one and a half rings, and then it stops. Your voice follows, soft and kind, ever so gentle and tender, like it always is on nights like this.

“Leo?”

Said Crawford’s chest tightens, desperate to see you, heartbeat speeding up. Alyn’s stomach clenches, a warm, almost fuzzy feeling stirring in him. Leo responds, his own voice quiet and almost feathery in the silence of the room. “Hey.”

There’s a pause; you’re judging how badly he needs to come over by the tone of his voice. Finally, you reply again, something close to relief in your own. “When are you coming over?”

Leo smiles. Alyn shakes his head, but his insides are churning.

You know. You always know. You can read them like the simplest of books.

“Is it that obvious?” Leo laughs weakly, glancing up at the moon. A wave of nausea and mild anger rolls through him, and he swiftly diverts his eyes back to the floor. “Sorry. Would you mind if both of us come over now?”

There’s the sound of shuffling on the other end, and he guesses you’re getting up to ask your mother if it’s okay. “Don’t apologise, Leo; it’s absolutely fine. Just let me ask my mum first.”

“Okay.” He hears you move the phone away, your voice becoming quiet.

“Mum, Alyn and Leo-” He hears your mother interrupt gently, tone light and understanding, granted very quiet.

“Full moon?” You must have nodded. “Of course, ___. You know I don’t mind. As long as nothing inappropriate happens, it’s fine. Do you need any extra pillows or anything?”

“No, I think we’ll be fine. I’ll get some if we need them. Thank you.” There’s footsteps again, followed by you saying, now louder, “You’re fine. Come over whenever you want.”

Leo nods. They both stand up, Alyn grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. Leo does the same, switching his phone between his hands in the process. “Thank you, ___. We’re leaving the dorm now.”

He can hear the smile in your voice when you speak again. “Okay. Ring me if anything happens, and come straight here, yeah? It’s already nearly pitch black; be careful.”

Your concern could melt them both. Leo sighs, lips turned up in a graceful smile. Alyn fails to suppress his own, something deep in him elated to hear you so worried about them, despite him knowing that they’re capable of handling themselves. He moves closer to Leo, answering, “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be fine. Trust us a little, will you?”

You laugh angelically, the sound soft and light. It’s beautiful. “I do trust you. I just don’t trust big cities like this at night. See you both in a bit.”

Leo grins. “See you.”

Alyn rolls his eyes. “See you.”

Leo hangs up, walking to the door and swiping his bag. Alyn does the same, hoisting his onto his shoulder. Wordlessly, Leo puts his phone away, then retrieves his keys and other bits and bobs, as does Alyn. When they’re ready, they slip out of the dorm room. Leo nods slowly, seeing the corridor empty. They move swiftly but quietly, taking the most complex, obscure route through the door to the rear entrance.

The academy doesn’t mind students who live on campus going to stay in friend’s houses, since it’s pretty good with understanding different circumstances, especially Alyn and Leo’s situation. They’ve already discussed this with the two, and said that it’s perfectly fine for them to go to their friends’ houses if they wish, considering their lack of a family and a proper home. 

Still, they hate having to explain it to the teachers, so they try to avoid coming into contact with anyone.

They stay close together without even trying as they make their way out of the campus, the paths silent and empty for the most part. The occasional student will wander by, and several couples are dotted around, talking or kissing or laughing together. Some of them call over to the twins as they go past, greeting them with smiles and waves. Leo gives strained smiles in return, deliberately avoiding raising his eyes. The sky’s dreadfully clear tonight, the moon looming overhead brightly.

Alyn lets out a breath, skin prickling. He doesn’t feel safe.

In no time, they’re out of the campus, heading into the park nearby. It’s connected to a large, wooded area, which they expands out through the centre of the city. Your house is on the other side, just brushing the trees, so going through is faster than going around. Neither of them speak, the only sound their careful footsteps against the vegetation and the occasional breath.

They’re both on guard, though. The woods are dangerous.

Thankfully, nothing happens, and maybe fifteen minutes later, they break through the trees. Your house is a newly-built one, with many others in the area, as part of an eco-friendly scheme introduced by the government. The modern, simplistic design is oddly fitting amongst the trees, the flat roof and asymmetrical design undeniably appealing to the eyes despite itself. It gives the boys a sense of security, seeing it before them.

It’s home. Or, at the very least, the closest they have to a home.

You’re in your room, they notice, sat in the window seat. The blackout blind has been lowered to just above your head, allowing them to see you through the large glass window. There are many of them through the house, letting in as much natural light as possible in the daytime, but at the moment all of the others are obscured with blinds.

Your head turns, eyes focusing on the two as they walk up to the house. They see you get up, disappearing from view.

They’re maybe ten feet away from the back door when it unlocks, the glass door sliding open. You peek around the side of it, the blind hiding the rest of you, before you open it fully. You smile gently. “Hey. Did you get out okay?”

They both nod, while Leo answers. “Yeah. It was quiet tonight.”

You release a sigh of relief. “Good.” You move out of the way, beckoning them inside. “Come in.”

They come in, and you lock the door before heading off down the corridor. The walls are all panelled with light wood, and the floor is a darker laminate, but sealed in such a way that it’s not cold inside. Instead, it’s pleasantly warm and light, with the eco-friendly bulbs bright above you all. The boys immediately feel safe and secure, knowing that they’re in a place with people they can trust.

You pop your head into the living room, which is decorated with beautiful white furniture and a large TV mounted against the wall. Your mother sits on one of the circular armchairs, curled up and reading a book. She lifts her head, giving the Crawford twins a warm grin. “Hello, you two. How are you?”

Leo’s expression relaxes slightly, and Alyn allows himself a cool but kind smile. It’s like having a mother of their own again. Leo speaks first. “I’m good, thank you. How have you been?”

She laughs lightly, nodding. “I’m wonderful, Leo, thank you.” She moves her gaze to Alyn. “How about you?”

Alyn lets out a sound of acknowledgement, crossing his arms habitually. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Her head drifts up and down; she knows they’re slightly off because of the full moon. “Good! I’m glad. Do you guys want anything?”

You glance up at the two, raising an eyebrow. Leo shakes his head, and Alyn follows. They just want to sleep. You move your stare back to your mother. “No, thanks. I think we’re just going straight to bed, if that’s okay.” Seeing her approving nod, you give her a small wave, backing up again. “Goodnight, then. Is dad coming home late again?”

Your mother sighs softly. “Yeah, he’ll be back at around one, probably. He’s been having some trouble in work with that organisation he’s monitoring. They’re becoming more volatile lately.” She shrugs dismissively, assuring, “Don’t worry about him. They’ve got it under control, and this is your dad we’re talking about. He’s as safe as he can be.” She gives you a wink. “Go on, get to bed. Goodnight.”

The boys repeat the parting word, then follow you up the stairs, then through the hallway around the edge of the first floor. Upon arriving at your room’s door, overlooking the north, east and south of the house, you go in, shutting the door once they’re in as well.

Your room is primarily white, with splashes of your favourite colour all around. You’ve got a double bed, a desk, a beanbag in the corner, and then your TV on the wall with several gaming consoles in a unit underneath. Because of how eco-friendly the house is, each bedroom has an en suite, and yours is impeccably clean as always, with a combined bath and shower.

You sigh, stretching your arms, before you give them both a small grin. “You know the drill. The bathroom’s yours to use; I’ve already brushed my teeth.” You’re also already in your night clothes, a simple long-sleeved shirt in your favourite colour, with black leggings and socks of the same colour.

Alyn’s cheeks tint slightly, a rose dusting rising in them. He clears his throat. “Thanks.” Without another word, he heads in to get ready, taking his bag with him.

Leo manages a tiny smirk. “He’s so shy. It’s hilarious.”

You chuckle softly. “Yeah, he is.” Your arms fold themselves over your stomach, and you tilt your head. “Are you okay?”

He shrugs, eyeing the partially closed blind. He’s alright for the moment, since his mind has been occupied, but he knows he’ll deteriorate as the night goes on. “Yeah.”

His short answer speaks volumes. You go over to the blind, pulling the cord to close it completely. With the sky and moon now unable to be seen, Leo’s muscles loosen slightly, and he releases a slow breath. You return to him, lips curled up, eyes tender. “Better?” His head drifts up and down. You make a sound of approval. “Good.”

A few more minutes are spent in near silence, while Leo brushes his teeth and gets changed. Alyn plops down onto your bed, lying flat with his legs still over the edge. You snort quietly, bouncing down to sit next to his head. “You okay there?”

He grunts, diverting his gaze. “Yeah.” You can see that his skin’s still slightly flushed, though, and imagine he might be feeling a bit nervous. He’s tense, as well; his shoulder muscles are tight, and his jaw is clenched from his conflicting emotions. With each passing second, his emotions are worsening, more memories flashing before his mind, more pain bearing down on his heart.

You observe this silently, watching him, lips pressed together.

Then, you scoot forward, sliding your hands under his head.

His eyes fly up to your face, expression betraying surprise and confusion, as well as healthy suspicion. You only shake your own head, laying his in your lap, settling it comfortably.

Just as he starts to sputter and protest, cheeks now burning, you start to run your fingers over his hair, then down the sides of his face. Despite him reaching up to grip your wrists, you ignore it, continuing to stroke the soft strands and flesh. A swell of foreign emotion swells inside him, baffling him further; he doesn’t mind.

Somehow, he likes it.

Scratch that.

He loves it.

With a weak huff, he lets you go, crossing his arms again and closing his eyes. You grin victoriously, tracing the backs of your fingers over his features, cheekbones and forehead, then his jaw, before going back again. It’s repetitive and soothing, impossible to not be calmed by. Despite more emotions starting to rise, he can somehow forget about the bad ones from that night, more focused on comprehending these strange sensations.

It’s at this point that Leo returns. Immediately, a flush of rage rolls through him, orbs honing in on your fingers touching Alyn so tenderly and lovingly, observing your peaceful expression and soft gaze.

He wants that to be him. He hates that your attention is on Alyn.

“Hey, now, don’t leave me out of the fun.” He jokes, albeit not sounding like he’s particularly amused. You laugh quietly, seeing Alyn blushing harder.

“Come on, I stroke your hair all the time.” You send him a warm smile. “Are you done?”

He nods. He’s in his night clothes, like you and Alyn, and has brushed his teeth. “Yep.”

You hum, patting Alyn on the head. “Come on, Mister Grumpy Guts. Let’s get you to sleep.”

Alyn mutters under his breath, not appreciating the nickname. Still, he sits up, then tugs the covers back. You get off them to let him, sliding under. It feels completely natural, doing this; it’s nothing suggestive. It’s innocent. You’re helping them to sleep, and that’s it. This is no different than if you had a female friend over and slept in the same bed as her. They’re friends.

Leo joins you both now, getting in on your right side. You remain sitting up, the covers coming up to your hips, while Alyn lies back with his head on the pillow. Leo does the same as his brother, sighing heavily and rubbing his face.

He can see it all again. He winces, feeling the rage returning, feeling that resentment of human life creeping back into him.

You sense his suffering, having seen it so many times before, and reach over him to get the remote to the lights on the bedside table. You turn them off, plunging the room into pitch black darkness, before placing the remote back. Letting out a quiet breath, you lean back against the headboard, using your extra pillow to stop it from making your shoulders and neck hurt.

_Right. Get them to sleep._

Your hand moves of its own accord, lowering to Leo’s hair. Your fingers run through it lightly, stroking again, brushing it from his face. He exhales slowly, focusing on the sensation, his attention fixated entirely on you. Alyn, hearing the movement of your hand and guessing what you’re doing, feels a surge of jealousy and envy, wanting the touch as well. He wants to the reassurance from you, wants you supporting him too. He needs you, maybe not as badly as Leo, but he needs you regardless.

Skin heated, he drops his forehead against your other arm.

Your lips curl up again, a smile gracing them. Your left hand lifts up, dropping down on the top of his head. You stroke his hair as well, mimicking your motions from before. You brush your fingers over their hair and faces, calming, soothing them, lulling them into relaxation with your touch.

It’s something Leo loves, even though it hurts him. It makes him remember his mother.  _God_  it’s painful, but he still loves it,  _because_  he knows that even though their parents are gone, they have you. He knows you won’t betray them. He knows they’re safe with you.

His arm moves without him thinking. He curls it around your hips, pressing his face into your side. His body starts to tremble.

You say nothing. You simply close your eyes, letting him hold onto you. If that’s what he needs, that’s what he’ll have.

Alyn feels the shift, of course, and catches on to what Leo’s doing. He doesn’t think it’s appropriate to do that, considering that you’re just a friend, but at the same time he’s desperate to do the same. He’s aware of the fact that you don’t mind, so there’s little reasonable ground for him to justify stopping himself.

He doesn’t understand his emotions. They do nothing but confound him.

In a moment of frustration, stimulated further by the guilt and grief building in him, he turns to face you, lying on his side. He buries his face in your shirt over your ribs, resisting the urge to lock his arms around you and never let go. You still completely for a brief moment, breathing pausing, before you sigh once more. Your thumb smoothes over his cheek.

You’ll sing for them, you decide. It always sends Leo off to sleep quickly.

Shifting just slightly, so that you’re lying back a bit more, you take in a deep breath. The words escape you, rolling from your lips.

 _“Dark the stars and dark the moon,_  
_Hush the night and the morning loon,_  
_Tell the horses and beat on your drum,  
__Gone their master, gone their son.”_  

Your singing isn’t exactly smooth, since you’re doing it quietly and the sounds catch every few seconds, but it matters little to them. Leo shudders slightly, gripping your waist tighter. A wave of nausea wracks his body. Alyn swallows thickly, remembering that night. He can’t get the image of their blood, nor their unmoving bodies, from his mind.

Neither of them can forget the heat of the flames.

 _“Dark the oceans, dark the sky,_  
_Hush the whales and the ocean tide,_  
_Tell the salt marsh and beat on your drum,  
__Gone their master, gone their son.”_  

You keep stroking their hair, continuing to sing. Eyes closed, you monitor their breathing against your sides and legs, waiting, just in case one of them starts to lose it. They seem to be holding it together well tonight.

 _“Dark to light and light to dark,_  
_Three black carriages, three white carts,_  
_What brings us together is what pulls us apart,  
__Gone our brother, gone our heart.”_  

Alyn blocks out everything in his mind. He forces the thoughts of fire and blood and death from his mind, silencing them, replacing them with your voice. He instead keeps his thoughts on you, on your voice and words, and on the warmth coming from you. He manages to push past his hesitance, his arm joining Leo’s, draping itself across your stomach.

Leo doesn’t even react, despite the irritation he feels; although he wants nothing but to remove Alyn from you, he knows that he needs you, and that he has no right to stop him. He clutches your hips harder, pressing his face into your side.

 _“Hush the whales and the ocean tide,_  
_Tell the salt marsh and beat on your drum,  
_ _Gone their master, gone their son.”_

Alyn’s thoughts begin to slow, growing sluggish, as you reach the end of the song. Something about it, perhaps how it uses the same verse twice in repetition, sends him deeper into a state of relaxation. He breathes in deeply, smelling the familiar vanilla scent coming from your top.

Leo tugs on your hips, just enough for you to feel it. You know what it means by now.

_You’ll hurt your back. Lie down._

You gently move down, ending up lying back between them, hair strewn around your head against the pillow. Alyn’s arm shifts up, moving to be across your abdomen instead, and then he moves up so he won’t be smothered under the covers. His head ends up against your shoulder, snuggled there, safe and warm and loved.

Leo moves up as well, hugging your waist. He nuzzles his face into your collarbone, able to hear and feel the echoing of your heartbeat through your chest. It thumps slowly, steadily, strong and healthy. It’s therapeutic, having the sound of a life he cares so much about so close to him.

You sing the last verse again, knowing they’re nearly there.

 _“Hush the whales and the ocean tide,_  
_Tell the salt marsh and beat on your drum,  
_ _Gone their master, gone their son.”_

It’s enough to tip Alyn over the edge of sleep. His breathing slows, deepening and regulating. His muscles relax, becoming looser, but his arm remains around your middle. The weight of his head against your shoulder becomes more noticeable as it goes limp, but you don’t mind. He’s falling asleep, and that’s what matters.

Leo is also succumbing to the dark. He breaths softly, shallowly, against your collarbone, but it swiftly deepens like Alyn’s. His arm around your hips tightens marginally, body pressed up against yours, seeking your own for comfort and reassurance.

You exhale contentedly, almost painfully relieved to see them ready to sleep.

You lean your head down, just enough to kiss Alyn’s head, then Leo’s. “Goodnight.”

Within minutes, Alyn has moved through into the second stage of sleep, and now is well under. Leo remains in stage one for several more minutes, and all the while you wait patiently, humming every now and again, or pressing innocent kisses to his hair.

Soon, he slips into stage two, and you know that he probably won’t be coming out fully until the morning.

Your eyes remain closed for a long time, fingers still sifting through the Crawford twins’ hair. You listen to their breathing, making sure they’re sleeping properly. They shift or move periodically, but you simply hush them with quiet sounds, stroking their faces when they do.

Eventually, you open your eyes, glancing to the side at your clock. It’s lit dimly, enough for you to see the time.

22:17

Nodding to yourself just a little, you let your eyelids slide closed once more.

It’s eleven when you finally allow yourself to sleep, but by this point, you know they’re in deeply, and are satisfied that they’ll stay under for most if not all the night.

You remain locked in their arms, and they remain tucked in yours, safe and secure and loved once more.

**♡** **♔** **♡**

Your mother opens your door just a fraction in the morning, at eight o’clock, when you should be up and ready for school. Sid stands behind her, almost certain of why you’re not up, having come to walk with you to school like he always does.

She smiles to herself, eyes softening. “It must have been a rough night for them. She got them through it, though, like she always does.”

Sid peers into the room over her head. Something dark and dangerous erupts within him when he sees you in bed, fast asleep, with Leo and Alyn curled up against your sides. He knows it’s innocent and for a good reason, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy to see. It hurts. It’s almost suffocating, having to look at it.

“Yeah. I guess you’re going to wake them up.” She nods. He grunts, spinning on his heels. “I’ll wait downstairs.”

She stares at his back as he stalks off down the corridor, then descends the stairs and out of sight. Her lips press together, smile vanishing, eyes calculating and sharp. Her gaze returns to you, before she murmurs to herself,

“Oh, sweetie. Only you could capture all their hearts like you have.” Her expression softens, and she steps into the room, sighing lightly. She closes the door behind her, voice dropping even further.

“But I think you’ll accept them all, when you start to understand their feelings. You’re too loving to do anything else.”

And so, she wakes you up, not mentioning anything. As she watches you all scramble about to get ready, screaming and shouting to each other, she simply smiles amusedly.

But when you all leave the house, she catches Sid’s attention. He sees the knowing look on her face. She smiles at him, giving him a nod, but her eyes hold a warning.

_This is just the beginning, Sid. The ice is already thin, and there’s already too many people on it for it to hold._

**♡** **♔** **♡**

Leo’s mind is far away all day.

It’s the first time in years that he’s slept during a full moon without waking up.

Shrugging off the concerns of everyone in the group, he thinks over his emotions. He thinks about how he hated seeing you touching Alyn and being close to him, and how he feels that way with all of the other guys. He recalls how his thoughts will always return to you, no matter where he is or what he’s doing.

He wonders why he’s always wanting to be with you, seeing you smile or laugh. He’s always aching to do things with you, to make memories with you and learn new things with you. He wants to keep you close to him, to have you in his arms and never let go.

He imagines Alyn being in love with you. It makes him feel sick.

_Oh._

The realisation strikes him all of a sudden, like everything in his brain clicks together, forming one simple, yet devastating sentence.

_I’m in love with the girl I was never meant to fall for._

Sid sees Leo stop dead at lunchtime. He watches the Crawford’s eyes rise up to you, laughing and chattering animatedly to Nico, distracted for the moment. A look horrifyingly familiar to Sid crosses through Leo’s gaze, and he swallows thickly, blinking in evident shock.

Giles sees this as well. He narrows his eyes.

_For once, I hope I’m wrong._

Sid scowls.

_You’re fucking joking._

“Leo.” He all but snaps, even though it’s quiet enough for only Leo to hear. He looks over, wrenched back to reality in a split second. Before he can respond, Sid pushes to his feet. “I need to talk with you. Come with me, now.”

Leo senses that something’s off as soon as Sid says his name. Through his half hysterical haze, he hears the raw emotion Sid’s trying so hard to hide. Thinking it best to not cause a scene and risk exposing his revelation, he stands wordlessly. Sid stalks off, away from the table, ignoring the questioning looks and exclamations from the others. Leo does the same, following him out of the cafeteria.

Sid walks through the school, heading up toward the roof. Leo catches onto this immediately, knowing that the roof is Sid’s safe area. It’s where he goes when there’s trouble, and where he’s told you to go if you’re ever in trouble. He  _did_  suggest that the others should as well, but he wasn’t nearly as serious when he said it.

Upon reaching the roof, Sid makes his way to the middle, then stops. Leo comes to a gradual halt a little bit away from him, a slight frown on his face.

“What was with you just now?” Sid asks lowly, tersely, staring out at the academy and city around him. Leo narrows his eyes, hands in his pockets. The right side of his lip twitches up automatically.

“I just realised that I actually had a good night’s sleep last night.” He lies smoothly, tone dismissive. Sid rolls his eyes, even though Leo can’t see it.

“Nice try. Mind not lying this time?” He mutters. Leo stiffens.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s all it was. It’s been years since I’ve slept that well.” He holds his ground impassively, sounding like he’s not remotely concerned about Sid’s insinuation. Said Grandier turns around in a swift, almost liquid-motion spin, intense eyes honing in on Leo.

“Do me a favour, Leo. Don’t fucking lie. I know exactly what that was; trust me, I’ve seen that look before. Don’t tell me it meant something else.”

Leo remains quiet for a long, few seconds. He opens his mouth to speak.

Before he can, though, Giles emerges from the stairwell, approaching the two with a cool, purposeful stride.

“Lower your voice, Sid. I could hear you from the stairs.” He comes to stand between the two, crossing his arms. He fixes Leo with a calm stare. “Leo, you had a very particular look about you just now, and both of us are quite certain as to what it was. Would you please tell us? We say this because, if we do not, I can guarantee that this will cause major problems for us all very quickly.”

Leo pauses for a moments, eyes flicking between the two males.

_They immediately knew something was off. They don’t notice anything else any other time, so that means they’re looking out for something. My suspicions have exploded through the night. It all makes sense now._

“I’m going to just go ahead and take a wild guess.” He declares, composing himself once more. “You like her, right?”

Sid scowls. Giles’ grip on his arm tightens just slightly. Leo smirks. “Right.”

Unbeknownst to them, he feels like he’s been punched in the chest. His heart is aching. His mind is in turmoil. He’s devastated, frustrated, enraged, sorrowful and lost all at once. He can’t believe this. He thought she was his, that he was the only one who’d gone back on the thing they’d always said.

_“We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”_

Giles sighs heavily. “I was afraid that this would happen. It seems that we’ve gone back on our word.”

Leo frowns. “We’ve kept it up until… well, whenever. It’s not like we’ve felt this way this whole time, so we have proved our point. We were completely platonic with her, until things developed and changed.” His stare becomes slightly guarded, moving to Sid. “How long have you known?”

Sid’s expression becomes blank, but his eyes are practically molten. “Since January. I denied a lot before then, though.”

Another punch. Leo winces, looking to Giles. “Since March. I never thought differently prior to then; it was unexpected.”

Leo runs a hand through his hair, the stress he’s feeling becoming immense. “And you’ve just kept it to yourselves?”

Giles nods. “Yes. Sid… shall we say, deducted that I had feelings for her in the morning after she stayed with me in my dorm, which was when I realised myself.”

Sid scoffs. “It was a pretty big shot in the dark, but you letting her stay over and borrow your clothes was weird enough, considering your usual behaviour with her. And then there’s the point of her being stubborn as shit over you sleeping in your bed, but you also being stubborn as shit and insisting on her having it.”

Leo raises an eyebrow. “What? I assumed one of you just slept on the floor or in your armchair.”

Giles shakes his head. “I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable, so I insisted that she have the bed and that I sleep in the armchair. She was insistent on the reverse of that, though, and the only compromise we could reach without dragging each other around the room was to share the bed.”

Heat flushes through Leo’s veins, but it’s anger, not embarrassment. The thought’s horrific to him; you slept in his bed with him, just like he does with you. He had been secretly hoping that only he would be allowed to do so, even though he had no right.

He rubs a hand over his face. “God. I’ve been hoping a lot more than I realised.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Welcome to my world. Same here.”

Giles nods slowly. “I concur.”

Leo stares out at the city, asking, “So, we just keep this to ourselves?”

Sid grunts. “That’s all we can do. We’ve agreed to monitor the others, in case this starts getting ridiculous and any of them seem to be the same as us. No one else has shown signs of it so far. You’re the first that we’ve noticed and confronted.”

It hurts, but it makes sense. Leo groans. “I can watch them more closely. I’ve got quite a few lessons with most of them, and I can see through Alyn more easily, so I’ll be able to watch him when he’s not as guarded.”

They fall silent. Sid starts to walk to the stairwell. “We’ll make them suspicious if we’re gone for too long. Let’s go. Don’t let them catch onto anything; act like you always have.” He all but instructs over his shoulder, meeting Leo’s gaze briefly. The Crawford nods.

“Yeah. Easier said than done.”

**♡** **♔** **♡**


	4. Part IV | You | Fall - 24th May 2014 | 14/15 | Year 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.
> 
> They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.
> 
> “We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”
> 
> So, why did things change, and how?
> 
> Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.

**♡** **♔** **♡**

“Dad, where are we going? You said you’d explain when we got here.”

“I will in a moment. Just be quiet for me, alright? I’ll tell you everything when we’re in a safer place.”

A frown forms on your face. You walk alongside your father in town, him having asked you to come with him to “Show you something important.” Although you were sceptical, you came along with him, and he has been nothing but overly mysterious all day.

He walks with that swift calmness that’s always amazed you, not moving obviously quickly but not staying lazy or relaxed. He makes sure you’re always there with him, continuously checking up on you, eyes darting around the area.

You have just reached the town square when everything goes to hell.

Your father stops all of a sudden, and it’s such a rapid halt that you bump into his back before you can stop yourself.

You go to apologise, but are stopped when he pushes your body behind his.

Through the throngs of people walking about the square, maybe one hundred of them, you peek around his body. In the centre of the square is a fountain, which contains a statue erected to show the peace and freedom of Wysteria after its historical issues with other countries. Under this statue stand four people, all dressed in black and exuding clear danger. One sits on the fountain steps, his chin resting on his knuckles, both elbows propped up on his knees. The others stand around him, large bags at their feet.

Inky black hair. Eyes that are grey like steel with hints of midnight blue. Tall, strong build. A stare so powerful that it cuts through your composure and leaves you trembling behind your father.

“Dad…” Your slightly frightened whimper is almost lost among the crowd, but you know he hears you. “Who is that? Why is he staring at us?”

He doesn’t respond for a few seconds. Then, he pushes you back, starting to back away from the four men. “Honey, go back the way we came. We’re going, now. Come on. Don’t look at them.”

Although terrified, and noticing the powerful man standing up in a lazy fashion, you do as he says and turn around. He takes your hand in his, keeping his eyes on the four while you start to walk away from the fountain. Your heart starts to pound away in your chest, and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end. “Just keep going, ___. We’re going to be alright. Just keep going, no matter wha-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. The first gunshot drowns it out.

You cry out in shock at the loud, piercing crack of a bullet being fired, whipping around. Your father has done the same, and now you see the people at the fountain standing with large assault rifles, although the lazy-moving one’s is lowered. He raises a hand, simply pointing straight at you and your father.

“Run! Run, ___! Now!”

You don’t hesitate.

You sprint away from the fountain, your father’s hand still clamped around yours. People start to scream around you, shouting and yelling in panic, pushing others to get out of the way. The gunfire starts in earnest, echoing through the night. Your body is filled with fear and dread, a sense of deep, heart-wrenching horror rising in you.

“Dad?”

You turn around, needing to see that he’s okay, wanting to see that he’s got a plan and knows what to do.

This is something you will regret for the rest of your life.

The bullet tears through your father’s head. Blood, gore and bone crack and fly out of his skull, painting you in flesh. He crumples to the ground, completely limp, and you fall with him.

Terrified, mortified, and screaming incoherently from grief and emotional agony, you try to pull him into your arms. To save him, maybe, even though you can’t. To protect him from the frightened stampede of people, maybe, even though you’re just as vulnerable to being crushed. To stop him from taking any more bullets, maybe, even though taking one yourself would probably mean death.

But before you can move him into your grip, your eyes snap up.

The man with inky hair stalks toward you, gun raised.

_Just keep going._

The man smirks.

_Just keep going, no matter wha-_

You can’t stay. Your body makes your choice, despite the howling of your brain to remain with your almost certainly dead father.

Your legs push you up and around. You bolt away from your father’s corpse, disappearing into the crowd that’s still trying to escape the gunfire. You push your way in between people, trying to use them to protect yourself, your mind figuring out that he won’t shoot as much if he can’t see you.

That’s assuming he’s after you. You almost hope so. That way, less people will get hurt or die.

After what feels like an eternity of shoving through the swathes of people, you all break out into the main street. You don’t so much as slow down, darting out into the road and narrowly avoiding running into a car. You make your way across the road, then dash into an alleyway, trying to map out the safest and quickest way out of town.

You can feel your lungs burning. Your chest aches. Your heart screams at you. Your vision is blurred by your tears.

Just as you enter into another alleyway, strong, solid arms fly out and catch you by the waist, almost causing you to fall under them with the force you collide with. The wind is knocked out of you, but you find the air to let out a screech of panic when you are pulled to the side, against a hard chest.

“No! No! Let me go! Let go of me, you bastard!”

“___! It’s Lucian! Calm down!”

Your head whips around. Familiar chocolate eyes stare back, watching you with such a fiery intensity that, under normal circumstances, it would have made you shake with fear.

“Where is the man, ___? Where did he attack?”

You can barely scramble your thoughts, too confused and heartbroken and distressed to even process the question. “He… I… Father, he was shot, in the head… The man, he… He killed him. Lucian, he’s dead! My dad-”

He cuts you off, turning you around properly and shaking you roughly. “Where, ___? Where is he? Where did he shoot him?”

The rage in his voice cuts through your emotions. The answer rolls from your lips, your sobs for the moment silenced. “The town square. He shot him in the square, by the independence fountain.”

He immediately lifts his hand to his ear, where you see a small microphone clipped to his ear. “Initial attack executed at the town square. All forces move there now. At least one suspected fatality.”

He sees you start to break down, sees you descend into awful, wracking sobs, eyes horrified and haunted, full to the brim with pain. He pulls you into his arms, muffling your cries with his shoulder, letting you scream and shout at him.

You lift your head, feeling your lungs truly start to ache. Black spots dance over your vision. The last things you see are Lucian’s eyes, regretful and enraged and sorrowful.

You collapse against him. The world falls away.

**♡♔♡**

Someone is carrying you. There’s so much noise.

“I don’t give a damn! Get him to our hospital! Now!”

_Lucian…_

“Sir, there’s no point. He’s already-”

“Silence! He’s going to the hospital, regardless of whether he’s already gone! I won’t repeat myself!”

Deep down in your heart, you know what that means. That voice is reserved only for those that Lucian really, truly cares about.

_Dad’s dead._

You’re hollow. You can’t feel anything. The arms around you may as well be strings, merely floating you away somewhere. All you want is to pass out again, so that you don’t have to face this. You won’t.

“Sir… is that his daughter?” The question comes from what you know is an ICAC agent, nearby, tone timid. “Is she…”

“She’s alive. She’s fine. No one’s going to so much as touch her.” Lucian’s snapped comment vaguely registers as overprotective, but you don’t have the mental strength to wonder why. You can barely understand what’s being said. He shifts you closer, keeping your head secure against his shoulder with his arm, the other almost constricting your thighs. He’s not remotely out of breath from carrying you. “I’m going with her to the hospital. The other Level Fours are already here.”

You can hear several other voices around you now, and metal under Lucian’s feet. The sound of doors shutting follows, and then he sits down, securing you almost too tightly against him on his knee. The familiar vibrations of a vehicle, likely a van of some sort, purr around you, telling you you’re probably in an ICAC ambulance.

You can’t bring yourself to move. It’s hard to even breathe.

Through your grief-stricken numbness, you register the conversations of what you confirm to be ICAC medics.

“He’s far gone. With the angle it’s gone in, it must have torn through the cerebellum, and possibly the thalamus or brain stem. He couldn’t have survived if we were there with him.”

“His vitals are gone.”

“Even if he did survive, somehow, I doubt recovery would be likely.”

Your heart aches, even through the numbness.

Lucian’s arms tense. The hand on your side moves to your head, cupping your head and ear as if to shield you from the words. “Do me a favour and talk a bit quieter. If she’s awake, I doubt she wants to hear this.”

There’s a fleeting second of silence.

“Is she injured, Sir?”

The hand on your head goes very still, almost stiff. You can feel him moving, seeming to curl over you for a brief moment, before you hear him swallow. “Yes. Her head is bleeding. It was from when she collapsed; I wasn’t able to hold her up while I was checking our surroundings.”

Cautious steps approach you, along with a gentle, female voice. “May I have a look? If she has concussion, we need to know.”

Lucian doesn’t answer for a long few heartbeats. He continues to cling to you like the only important thing in the world. “Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Fingers touch your skull tenderly, drifting over your scalp and inspecting your head. When they touch the front-left side of your forehead, it throbs, pain lancing through the entire area harshly. Eyes squeezing shut instinctively, you shrink back from the touch. Lucian’s grip becomes painful.

“Miss?” The medic murmurs softly, carefully shifting your head around to face her. “Can you open your eyes for me? If you can hear me, I need you to open them.”

_I can’t. I don’t want to._

Your throat thickens.

_I want my dad._

But you need to do what she says, for the sake of your own health.

Gathering all your strength and energy, you force your eyelids to separate.

Immediately, intense light consumes your field of vision. You squint, unable to see anything, but suddenly the light dims, a pressure against your forehead becoming discernible. When your eyes adjust, everything remains blurred, sight shifting and momentarily sharpening every few seconds before blurring again. You can vaguely make out the medic before you, studying you intensely, but you can’t see any features.

You can see her smile, though. “Thank you. Well done, sweetie; I know it must hurt, but I need you to talk to me, okay?” You can’t nod. You barely manage a movement of your head, but apparently, it’s enough. “What’s your name? I need you to answer, not you, Sir.”

Lucian’s breath hisses out of him, but he remains silent.

_My name?_

It’s immensely difficult to speak, and the pounding in your skull only worsens when you manage to open your mouth. “___ ____.”

“Okay. Good girl. How many of my fingers can you see, ___?” Her hand comes up, but you can’t even see where each finger starts and stops. You moan.

“Blurry…”

_My dad’s dead. I can’t think. I can’t do anything. Dad…_

She makes a sound of acknowledgement. “Alright. Try to stay awake for me, okay? I know it must be hard, but you need to stay with us. Do your best for me.” Her voice quietens, but you hear her next words. “She needs to be taken to A&E tell them to get an MRI ready for when she comes in to check for bleeding. Severe concussion from an impact wound to the upper-left forehead.”

_That hardly matters. Dad matters more._

Several minutes pass, your eyes remaining open but unfocused and hazy, and then the ambulance comes to a stop. Lucian is up immediately, speed-walking out of it and what you make out to be the ICAC’s own hospital. You’ve been here a few times for your dad, when he’s been mildly injured, or when he’s dropped in to colleagues while you’ve been with him.

Now, you’re here for yourself, and for him. But it’s different this time.

“Is this ___ ____?” A doctor asks as soon as Lucian walks into the A&E, sprinting over to the armoured man.

“Yes. Her father is being brought in now.” He answers tersely. The doctor backs up, gesturing for Lucian to follow.

“Please, come with me. We have a bed ready for her.” He says, all while jogging through the corridor.

The few other A&E patients, ICAC members or associates, are watching tensely, you are able to observe, feeling the eyes of the room on your barely-conscious form. A bed is ready a little way away, other medical staff waiting around it, and Lucian swiftly approaches it before leaning down. He lays you down, many more hands assisting to ensure that all your limbs and head in particular are set down gently. Your hand briefly slides over his as he drags himself away, and he squeezes yours hard before letting go.

You can feel blood running down your head. You realise that Lucian must have been really distracted, to have let you collapse and hit it so hard on the way down.

The faces of the medics and the overhead lights flash before your blurred vision, their hushed murmurs indiscernible. Fingers brush over your hair, then your cheek, over and over again in an apparent attempt at a soothing motion.

In seemingly seconds, you’re wheeled into a room with an MRI scanner. The doctors and nurses take you over, next to the machine, before one of them leans over and starts to talk to you.

“___, we need to do an emergency MRI on you to check that you don’t have bleeding on your brain or between it and your skull. Is that okay?” She asks, face sharpening and becoming a bit more focused when you concentrate on her. You don’t see any benefit in refusing, and so you force your head up and down.

“Yeah.” She smiles softly, returning the gesture, before she continues,

“Thank you. We can’t do it while you’ve got metal on you, so we’ll need to change you into a hospital gown. Are you alright with us doing that? If you can’t do it yourself, and you don’t mind, we can help.”

First, your father dies. Then, you get a concussion. Now, you have to get half naked in front of a bunch of strangers. Wonderful. It’s necessary, though.

“Yeah, okay. I can’t move.” You manage to mumble out, voice weak and barely audible. She nods in understanding.

“Of course. So you’re happy for us to undress you? We’ll keep your clothes safe; it’s just while we get the scan done.” She presses. Tired of speaking already, you force another nod.

“Yeah.” As soon as they hear the word, you see the male doctors and nurses move away, busing themselves with the machine. The females carefully sit you up, supporting your almost limp, slightly trembling form, before removing your clothes layer by layer. You try to assist and make it easier for them, but you really can’t do much at all, and simply sit there while they strip you down to your underwear. They’re swift and professional as they tuck you into a hospital gown, fastening it around you before removing any jewellery from you. Finally done, the males return, and they all lift you onto the MRI with the utmost care and gentleness.

Oddly, your eyes moisten slightly, feeling them being so caring and tender with you.

_What?_

You blink, tears falling down your face before you can stop them.

_I was wondering when I’d start to cry. Maybe the shock’s wearing off._

Swallowing back the increasingly thick lump in your throat, your hands clench in the material of the gown, and you focus on breathing deeply to ward off your impending tears.

“Try to keep as still as you can for me, okay? It’ll go faster if you don’t move.” The same doctor requests, smiling down at you.

You can only nod slightly, wincing at the intense pain now consuming your skull. Her smile falters slightly, and she steps back, moving out of your field of view. The machine hums to life, vibrations thrumming through you with a low, consistent sound. The bed moves inside the scanner, encasing your upper body and hiding the room from view. The scan starts, and you remain still, like they asked you to.

You see it all again. The bullet ripping through his head, the blood, his body collapsing. The loss grips you, grief and mental agony slamming into your mind hard. You’ve been somewhat distracted thus far, but now you’re not, and you can’t stop thinking about it.

_My dad’s dead. He’s gone._

More tears stream out, and you absently wonder if it’ll affect the scan. You guess it doesn’t, since the scan doesn’t stop.

_I hope mum’s okay. I hope they caught the bastards that did it._

Your thought process whirls, emotions spiralling from livid rage to absolute misery, to intense distress and back again.

_I want my friends._

As soon as they enter your mind, as soon as you can see their faces, your head goes quiet around the pounding ache. The desire to have them here, to have their comfort, supersedes everything else.

_I want the boys._

Your eyes close again, just for a fleeting moment.

_I want my boys._

**♡♔♡**

The scan takes about forty minutes to complete. When it’s done, you’re ready to pass out.

They bring you out of the machine and lift you back onto a gurney, then wheel you out of the room and through the corridors once more. You’re covered with a blanket, hair smoothed away from your face, while a hand holds yours. The doctors and nurses are absolutely silent.

They swiftly take you into a treatment room, where they clean up the gash on your head and stitch it up. You don’t even register the pain of the needle.

Soon, they bring you into a ward, one that’s almost empty and just as quiet as they are. Once they’ve taken you inside the room at the end and lifted you onto the bed, they start to ask you questions, like how you’re feeling and where you’re hurting. You manage to drag yourself through answering, tone dull and empty and exhausted.

“Well,” The doctor from before sighs out once she’s done, adding notes to your medical profile as she goes. “You have a severe concussion, as well as the obvious heavy emotional trauma you’ve suffered, so we’d like to keep you in overnight, if not for tomorrow night as well, just to monitor your condition and ensure that no adverse effects take a hold on you. Is that okay?”

You don’t have a reason to object. You’re just going to spend the time grieving anyway; it doesn’t matter where. “Yeah.”

That sad smile comes back again. “Okay. We can sort out paperwork and all that later on; for now, I imagine you just want to sleep, which you’re fine to do. If you need anything, just press the assistance button. Your things are here,” She gestures to the bedside table. “And there’s a tray in case you’re sick, as well; concussions can cause that, unfortunately. If you are sick, just press the button and we’ll get rid of it, then get you a new tray.”

You absorb this silently, nodding. When she finishes, you simply murmur, “Thank you very much. I will.”

She just smiles once more, departing.

And, you’re alone.

Your brain doesn’t know what to do. You want to cry, but not, you want to sleep, but not, you want to scream, but not, and you definitely want a hug. What the hell are you supposed to do?

Eyes drifting over to the bedside table, you spy your phone sitting atop your neatly-folded clothes, jewellery in a small bag next to it. Lips pressing together, you force your hand up, the limb feeling heavy and sluggish. Managing to slide it off the table, you turn it upward, not expecting anything in particular.

What you see stuns you into still silence.

There’s just message after message from the boys, as well as your mother. It takes you a solid seven minutes to read through them. A few of them stand out to you.

____, we saw the news about the shooting. You were in town today, were you not? You’re alright, aren’t you?_

_Albert…_

_Are you alright? We saw about the attack. Were you nearby?_

_Byron._

____, where are you? Are you hurt? You said you were going into town with your father. Are you safe?_

_Giles._

____, please answer. Are you okay? Please tell you weren’t there, Princess. Even if it’s just an emoji, give me something. Just let me know you’re safe, baby._

_Leo. He only calls me baby if he’s really worried._

____, what’s going on? I saw the news. Were you in the area of town that was attacked? Please tell me you’re not hurt._

_Louis…_

____? Where are you? Are you okay? Get out of town as fast as you can, Princess. It’s not safe there. Please be safe._

_Nico…_

____, please respond as soon as you can. Are you still in town? If you don’t know already, there’s been a shooting, roundabouts where you said you were going. You need to get out, ___, as fast as you can. Please let me know where you are and that you’re safe as soon as you can._

_Robert._

____, where are you? So help me God, if you don’t reply, I’m going to go out and hunt you down. Are you safe? Someone’s shot up the damn square, ___. Tell me you’re alright!_

_Sid… oh, Sid…_

The tears resurface. You swallow, not ready to release them, and open the group chat. It’s just as full of new messages, pouring in by the second, between the boys. As soon as you enter it, they pause. They must have seen that you’ve read the messages.

Instantly, there are shouts and exclamations of your name, of them thanking all the higher powers that you’re alive, that you’re awake. You don’t know what to say.

So, you do what you’ve always done with them, always. You speak the absolute truth, sentences short but precise with your exhaustion.

 **_The Princess to The Royal Squad:_ ** _I’m alive. In the ICAC hospital in Hellebore; severe concussion._

The message sends, and they all remain silent. The next words get stuck, harder to type than to think. You force yourself to write them, tears streaming down your cheeks freely.

 **_The Princess to The Royal Squad:_ ** _Dad’s dead. I think the shooters were targeting him._

You drop the phone onto the pillow, watching their uproar of horror, concern, rage and mourning. There’s so many messages, you can barely read them all, since they’re moving so fast. Immediately, Sid says he’s on his way, and the others swiftly join in. They decide to get a seven-seater taxi together and to just split the cost, and within minutes, they’re out and moving, running to you. Albert, Byron and Nico say they can get a private car over.

_I wonder where mum is._

You’re crying, but not sobbing. The tears are flowing, but there’s no sound. There’s just deep, empty, hollow grief, beating at your heart and soul. You don’t want to believe it; he’s your dad. He can’t just be gone. It’s so wrong, so fundamentally awful, to think that he’s no longer alive.

But you saw the bullet. You saw the life leave his eyes in a split second. He’s gone.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been lying there, staring blankly at your phone, until you glance at the time and see that it’s been fifteen minutes.

_Oh. Time passes fast when your life is crumbling around you._

Just as you think this, a wave of nausea rolls over you, insides almost seeming to curl up and contract. You hunch over, coiling in on yourself, while your arm locks around your stomach. Stifling a whimper, you use the other arm to force yourself upward, half lying down and half sitting. You reach out to the bedside table, clumsily dragging the tray off the top, before putting it on the mattress under your face.

That unpleasant, unfortunately familiar sensation rises in your throat, and you squeeze your eyes shut, a short sob breaking through. The last thing you need and want right now is to be sick.

Unfortunately, your body doesn’t listen. Mere seconds later, your stomach heaves, throwing up its contents. The acid burns your throat on the way up, and you gasp around wretches, gripping the railing of the bed hard. You’re so focused on your misery, and on your body emptying itself, that you don’t hear the collection of voices approaching the door. You don’t hear it open, either.

But that doesn’t matter. Heartbeats later, hands are on your face, pulling your hair back, smoothing it away. The many different sounds and conversations blur together, morphing into one loud, unintelligible cacophony of noise. Someone’s murmuring to you, tone low and tender. When you’re done throwing up, you try to spit as much of the acid out of your mouth as you can, then swallow with a sickened wince. The tray is moved away, more orders and commands barked out by someone.

A bottle appears under your mouth, and someone helps you to drink what you soon realise is water. You gulp it down, wanting the taste of acid gone, before letting go and gasping in a ragged breath. The hands on your hair brush over your face, wiping away the tear tracks on your cheeks, whispering to you in a hushed voice.

_It’s too loud. I can’t hear anything._

You manage to reach up, very weakly holding their wrist. Their face is close, so you don’t have to raise your now sore throat to whisper back, “Loud. Can’t hear.”

Immediately, they pull back. You very much hear what they say, and work out easily who it is.

“Do you guys want to shut up? She’s got a concussion and all this shit to deal with, and you’re all shouting over each other. Shut the hell up so she can think, will ya?”

_Sid. Of course it’s Sid._

The room falls silent. Your eyes close, breath shuddering in and out of you. Your heart hurts. Your head hurts. Your throat hurts. Your mouth hurts. You’re so close to losing it.

_The boys are here. I don’t have to hide, now. I don’t want them to see me like this, but I need to._

Your fingers fist around Sid’s sleeve. The tears start to pour in earnest.

“Sid-” His name leaves your lips before you can stop it. The others’ names follow, like a prayer, without you planning to speak them. “Robert. Giles. Leo-” Your voice cracks. A sob escapes. “Alyn… Nico… Louis-” Another one. Sid sits next to you on the bed, coaxing you into his arms. He shifts you closer, securing an arm around your waist, the other’s hand remaining on your hair. His lips crush against the crown of your head. “Albert… Byron…”

Your last shard of composure shatters.

_I can’t do this. It hurts._

Your sobs echo through the room, loud and agonised. It’s the howls of someone who’s lost something that means the world to them. It’s sorrow and sadness and grief, mourning and horror and hopelessness, all mixed together in a sound that no one should ever have to make.

Even muffled by Sid’s shoulder and coat, it cuts through the boys like knives. It shakes them. To several, it unravels what they’d somehow thought of you up until this point. To Albert, Byron, Nico, Alyn and Louis, who’ve never seen you cry before, this is nothing short of horrific. To witness such pain and suffering in someone they’ve always seen strong and collected, even in times of hardship, it’s unbearable.

You don’t know how long you spend crying. It could be seconds, minutes or hours. You really have no idea at all.

You only manage to work toward stopping when you can’t physically cry anymore, when your body is too exhausted and malnourished to replenish the fluid it’s lost. Even then, you don’t move, instead clinging to Sid like your last thread of life. He grips you just as hard, silently telling you he’s there, that he’s here for you. His lips never leave your head, hand never leaving your hair.

Protecting you. Shielding you from the world. Trying in vain to stop the agony.

At some point, the sobs die down, leaving you instead with ragged, jutted breaths, body trembling violently against Sid. He makes hushing sounds, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. He doesn’t tell you that you’re okay. He doesn’t tell you that you’re going to be fine. He tells you that he’s here, that they’re all there and ready to help. He tells you that he will get you through it. He murmurs that he’ll never leave you and that he’ll do everything he can to take the pain away.

It’s the sweet nothings that, even through the grief, somehow allow you to find strength. They give you hope in a world that’s being swallowed by darkness.

You know already that you’re going to cry again soon. You can’t not; this is too severe, too soul-destroying, for you to be able to cope without crying. But, at least for the moment, you’re able to stop.

Your face buries itself in his throat. When you speak, your voice is barely audible, thick with tears and sorrow. “My mum…”

Hearing you trail off, Sid responds, tone gentle and careful. “She’s here. She’s downstairs, with…” He pauses. Your aching heart misses a beat, a fresh wave of sorrow gushing through you. “She’s with the ICAC. They’re telling her what happened.”

_She knows. She knows he’s dead._

You don’t think they’ll know the details, since it’ll be kept secret until the situation’s completely under control. You bolster your mental strength, choking out, “We got to the square. There were four men at the fountain with bags. They saw my dad, and…” You swallow back a fresh bout of tears, breathing deeply. Sid strokes your hair, helping you to calm yourself further. “They started shooting. We ran, but they- they shot at him. He couldn’t have known- I- it got him in the head-”

You start to shake more, body recoiling with horror and mental agony at the memory. Sid hushes you once more, pressing your face into his shoulder again. Your fingers dig into his arm slightly, despite you trying not to hold him too hard, but he soon mumbles against your forehead, “Hold on as tight as you need, ___. I don’t give a damn. I’m here.”

Your grip tightens immediately. It’s very slightly painful, but he doesn’t care. It’s nothing to him.

Several seconds later, the door opens, and the doctor from the MRI comes in. She hurries over to you, a new tray in her hand. “Pardon the intrusion. Here’s a new tray, ___. Your mother is speaking with the doctors who… treated your father,” The words cut in deep. You hide your face in Sid’s throat. “To sort out arrangements for him. She won’t be able to come down for some time, if at all. She asked us to let you know.”

_She has to sort out the funeral arrangements. The ICAC will give him a funeral, and he has it all set out in his Will, but she still has to identify him and confirm the death._

You swallow hard, forcing a nod against Sid’s neck. “Okay.”

She sets the tray down on the bedside table, giving you a sympathetic smile, before she leaves the room.

The hand on your side starts to massage the area, Sid’s fingers tracing over your ribs as if they’re the piano keys he plays so often. “Have you slept at all since it happened?”

“I passed out when Lucian found me. I was awake when he got me to an ambulance. I haven’t slept since.” You answer, mumbling the words into his neck. He grunts.

“You’re going to need clothes and toiletries; they told us they want to keep you in overnight, if not for tomorrow, too. I’ll go and get them.” He decides. Before you can protest, Giles’ voice joins in to your left.

“And she will need her phone charger, as well. I will come with you to make sure we get everything she needs.” His voice sounds almost choked, somehow. Thick. Almost like yours.

Giles was close to dad. Sid was, too, and Robert, Alyn, Leo and Louis. Even Nico was. They must be hurting as well.

“You don’t need to-” Sid cuts you off, burying your face in his collarbone and holding it there. You can only breathe in his strong, familiar scent, focusing on the warmth of his skin, while he speaks.

“Don’t even try all that, ___. We’re here to help. If we didn’t want to, we wouldn’t be here.” He lifts his own head now, directing his words away from you. “Leo.”

“On it.” You don’t have the chance to work out what the vague conversation means; Sid shifts, sitting up, before letting you go and slipping away.

As his hands leave you, Leo enters your vision, and he replaces Sid within a second of him. You briefly notice that his eyes look slightly red and swollen as he sits beside you, then binds his arms around your waist and back, fingers finding your hair and threading through it. You don’t object, understanding that he’s providing you with the comfort he knows you need. He briefly lets go to reach for the control for the bed, raising the upper part so that it’s at a thirty-degree angle. He leans back, shuffling over so that he’s lying back on the bed and you’re curled up against his side, head settled in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

“Hey, Princess.” He mumbles softly, quietly, into your hair. His voice is just as choked as Giles’. Your eyes moisten again at the sound.

“Hey.” You whisper the response weakly, mind deciding to distract itself from its own problems by focusing on everyone else’s. “Are you okay?”

A slightly broken laugh erupts from him, but you can hear the pain he’s trying to hide. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”

He doesn’t need to ask in return. It’s impossible not know the answer.

Sid and Giles make their way to the door, allowing you to see the latter for the first time today. Tired eyes. Expression strained. Smile forced.

_We’re all hurting. We’re all grieving._

“We will return shortly, Princess. Are there any food or drinks in particular you’d like us to bring for you?” He offers, obviously trying to maintain his calm exterior, most likely for your sake. Not desiring anything and guessing that you won’t tomorrow, either, you shake your head.

“No, thank you.” He nods, opening the door. He pauses for a moment, though, before turning back and approaching the bed. When he’s close enough, he reaches down to slip his hand into yours, raising it to his mouth. He brushes a feathery kiss over your knuckles, breathing out,

“Even amidst losing him, thank the heavens that you’re alive.”

Your throat swells again. You know your dad would agree.

He leaves afterward with Sid, and you glance around the room to see who’s left. Byron is sat on one of the armchairs to the left of the bed, with Nico and Albert on either side of him, leaning against the wall.  In the chair next to Albert sits Robert, with Louis in another next to him, and Alyn leant against the wall next to Louis’ chair. There’s another next to him, where Giles was sitting, which is now empty.

_They’re all here for me, but what can they do? I don’t want them to have to deal with such sadness._

You try to push a smile onto your face, but it collapses as soon as it forms. A tremble rattles your form. “Hi, guys. Sorry; you don’t have to stay.”

Leo stiffens. Alyn scowls. Louis frowns, and Robert’s expression fills with shock. Byron narrows his visible eye, while Nico gapes and Albert fixes you with a sharp look.

_What did I say? What was wrong about that?_

Alyn speaks first, tone cutting. “We’re here because we want to be, ___.”

“Indeed. We are aware that we had no obligation to come; we came because we wished to. While we three may have been to some extent detached and distant when we first joined the group, I would think you would realise this by now; we regard ourselves as being fully integrated within this group, and as such take the welfare of other members seriously. Do you really think we would stay at home considering what has happened?”

Guilt surges through you at Byron’s calm words. You suppose not. Burying your face in Leo’s throat, your fingers clench in his shirt with stress. “Oh. Sorry.”

You don’t see it, but Nico’s expression crumbles. He breaks away from Byron to come over to the bed, hopping on your other side. His arm slips around your middle, under Leo’s, and his face nuzzles into your nape, body warm behind you. His hand finds your one that isn’t gripping Leo’s shirt. “I’m so sorry, Princess. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I’m sorry. I wish I could take the pain away.”

Your strength dissolves in seconds. Your fingers grasp his so hard they could break, and a stifled sob bursts out of you. Leo exhales shakily, and you hear him swallow thickly, the hand in your hair settling atop your own on his shirt.

They hold you. They cling to you, letting you do the same, while the tears fall, again and again and again. They do the only thing they can do for you, at a time when little can already be done.

They stay with you. They stay through the pain.

**♡♔♡**

You fall asleep after crying, at long, long last.

Your trembling form continues to quiver even in sleep. Leo and Nico remain with you, embracing you, for a long time, while the others speak amongst themselves quietly. Eventually, Nico becomes too choked up, guilted by the knowledge all of you have, and gets up. He slides to the floor, leaning against Byron’s chair, before he starts to weep into his hands. Byron’s hand settles atop his hair, stroking softly, providing as much comfort as he can. Albert doesn’t say a word about it.

Leo is struggling to hold it together, too. He shudders around you every so often, clutching you to his chest like he’s never going to let you go. When your leg curls upward, seemingly from something you’re dreaming about, he nudges it atop his own through the blanket, your calf settled atop his thigh.

God, it hurts. It’s killing them all, in one way or another.

To Sid, he’s lost a close second father, one he’d even put complete trust and faith in. His hands are clenched into fists as he enters the hospital with Giles.

The latter is the same, knuckles white from gripping the strap of your messenger bag. He’s lost what he deemed to be his real father, considering that he has no contact with his own anymore.

To Alyn and Leo, they’ve lost the only other chance they’ve had at having a father, since their own is already on the other side. To them, it’s just the same thing all over again, the agony of having a parent ripped away from them.

To Byron, Albert and Nico, it’s the first time they’ve ever felt like they’ve had a father. Their own is a tyrant and a monster, so yours was their first insight into what a real father is. Now, it’s all gone.

Robert lost his father a long time ago, and he wasn’t the most affectionate. He thought he had a real father through yours, truly felt a connection with him, and now it’s been taken away from him again.

Finally, Louis’ father has never been his real father. He knows he’s adopted. He knows his family is a lie. But somehow, this hurts more than knowing that, because your father felt so real to him, and it’s gone. He’s without a father once more.

But, along with all of that, they’re all hurting because of you.

Seeing you in this state, so defeated, distraught, agonised and deeply horrified by what you’ve witnessed, is unbearable to them. It’s unsettling and makes them feel helpless, because they’re fully aware that, even if they do everything possible to ease your suffering, only time will heal your heart. That’s something none of them ever wanted to have to face.

Leo’s throat closes up, a sob working its way up. His hand, warming the skin of your side through the hospital gown, grips just a bit harder under the blanket. His lips crush against your head with an almost bruising force, and his eyes shut in an attempt to prevent his oncoming tears from escaping.

The others see this all too clearly. Alyn lowers his head, eyes downcast. He’s suffering just as much as his twin.

“Leo.” Byron murmurs, tone uncharacteristically gentle.

Leo bites his tongue, hard. He breathes through the sobs trying to escape from him.

“Let me have her.”

The softly-spoken order, a strange contrast, comes from none other than Robert. Leo’s eyes open in a split second, focusing on him immediately. Robert levels him with a composed, controlled stare, before he nods. “You’ll wake her, Leo. Give yourself time and room to grieve.”

He doesn’t want to let you go, but he knows his friend is right.

Robert makes his way over, and Leo forces himself up when he reaches you. He kisses your forehead once, then again, then a last time, before he releases you. Robert takes his place smoothly, cradling you against his chest while lying down in the exact same position. He embraces you tenderly, shutting his eyes once he’s comfortable and satisfied that you are as well.

The others say nothing. There isn’t anything to speak of. Even as Giles and Sid return with your things, the room remains still and the silence unbroken. Robert plants a chaste kiss against your forehead, then gets up, motioning for Sid to take his place.

It’s the unwritten rule of the group. Sid is the one who gets you through the really tough times, who drags you through your low points and brings you out the other side. It’s been that way since he saved you after you were attacked by Aubrey.

And so, he lies with you, holding you to him. The others watch on, speaking in hushed voices. The doctor returns after some time, carefully taking a blood sample while you sleep, before leaving once more.

Your mother never comes.

**♡♔♡**

The next few weeks are the hardest of not only your, but also the boys’ lives, until that point.

Your tears never seem to cease. Every day without fail, you find yourself sobbing your heart out, grieving and aching for your dad. Your mother shuts off, spending her days mourning alone in her room. She forgets to eat, to sleep, to move. It’s up to you to make sure the house is still operating.

And that’s where the boys come in. By their own wills entirely, they take care of everything they humanly can for you. They do it to respect your father, and your mother, and everything they’ve done, but also because they want to do everything they can to help you. They care about you so much, treasure and value you so intensely, that the thought of not doing so isn’t something they can even consider.

One week in, it’s the funeral. Leo alone comes with you to buy a dress for it, since you don’t have one. You choose a simple, black dress, one with a high neck and long sleeves, coming to your thighs and flaring out in the skirts. With it, you put on black tights and short black boots, then do your hair appropriately but modestly.

You do all of this like a robot, numb and unable to move with any sense of urgency. You can barely function. The boys have been angels, making sure you’ve been eating and drinking at least twice a day, but you just don’t want to. You’re not hungry or thirsty. You just want to sleep, to ignore everything going on and forget that your dad is dead. You’re constantly off-balance, dizzy and unfocused, barely able to manage each day. It’s torture. You haven’t been to school for the whole week.

“___?” Leo’s voice calls through your bedroom door, soft and gentle as always. “Can I come in? Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” Your mumbled response is met by the door opening, followed by his quiet footsteps. He steps up behind you, clad in a sombre, black suit, so different to his usual attire that you end up staring at him through your mirror. He smiles, albeit sadly, pain clear as day in his scarlet eyes. His hand finds yours, and you watch his fingers wind through yours in the mirror. “Is it time?”

His throat works, emotions choking him from the inside. Even through the permanent sorrow that has dominated your own hues for a week straight, fresh sadness forms in them at the sight. Leo’s smile crumbles. “Y-Yeah.” He replies, voice trembling. A cold, heavy sense of finality washes over you, settling heavily within you. You turn away from the mirror, hand remaining clamped around his.

“Okay.”

He can’t do it.

He throws his arms around you. He’s done it so many times, over and over and over again, in the last week. He’s embraced you so hard he’s almost crushed you, trapping you against him in an unbreakable vice, suffering just like you are. Accustomed to it by this point, and wanting nothing more than for him to not be hurting, you embrace his neck in return, whispering,

“It’s okay.”

_Liar._

“We’re going to be okay.”

_Such a lack of honesty to yourself._

“We’ll get through this.”

_Disgraceful._

He can only nod. He knows you’re lying, too.

Seconds later, you’re descending the stairs of your house, hand-in-hand with Leo. The boys are all waiting in the hallway near the front door, dressed in black suits as well. Your mother is leant against the wall a little bit away, dressed similarly to you, but with a veil obscuring her face. She stares at her feet, a black clutch bag gripped in her trembling hands.

There’s no one else here. You have no other family to mourn your father.

Upon reaching the bottom, you’re enveloped in a hug by Louis. He embraces you tightly, for a long few moments, before letting go. Sid, next to him, steps up to you, throwing your coat around your shoulders. You slide your arms into the sleeves, buttoning it up on the left side, where the material has crossed over your entire chest. Your fingers shake as you do it.

Once you’re ready, you take Leo’s hand again. Robert makes his way over, reaching up to cup your face tenderly, then kiss your forehead very gently. “We’re here with you, Princess. We’re all here.”

You can only nod. You know they are.

He takes your other hand. Breathing in deeply, your own clutch bag tucked under your arm, you move to the door and go outside. You walk down the path from your house, down the trail bordered by trees and bushes, until you arrive at the road.

It’s bright out, the sun out of place for such a dark time. Outside the house, the hearse with the remainders of your father’s body waits, ready to begin the procession. He wanted to have everything possible donated from his body, before he was cremated. Behind the hearse are two long, black SUVs, waiting for you and the boys. They’re allowed to ride in the procession because your father included them as family in his Will. That brought out a fresh bout of tears when you first found out about it.

Surrounding the cars are ICAC agents on motorbikes, as well as ones on foot, at least a hundred or so.

_This is what happens when one of the ICAC’s own dies. They’re honoured to the highest level, like a soldier._

Your throat thickens again, but you blink the tears away when they come. You make a promise to yourself there and then.

_I’m not going to cry anymore. He wouldn’t want it. I’m just going to make sure that everything he believed in lives on, that everything he stood for is remembered, even after death. I’m going to keep him alive._

Steeling yourself, you inhale deeply, then begin forward, toward the first car. Lucian stands by it, dressed in full ICAC regalia, similar to military ones. So do the Directors of the ICAC, a married couple, and then the Level Five Agents, those who oversee its operation and pretty much run it.

Upon reaching the car, the Directors incline their heads respectfully. It’s odd, considering that they’re so much older than you and have so much more power.

“We’re so sorry for your loss, Miss ___. Your father was a true hero, a legend among this organisation. The country mourns his death today.” The female says softly, straightening up with the man. You nod, inclining your own head.

“Thank you very much.” Your response is simple, but it speaks volumes. They both give you sad smiles, moving out of the way. Lucian’s barely-existent composure seems to falter when you walk toward the car and come within range of him. His words from earlier in the week return to you.

_“Your father… he was instructed by the ICAC to get you out of the house and take you into town for your safety. Your mother had instructions herself, and was escorted away from your home, because of a security threat. We had intel which led us to believe that militants from the organisation your father was assigned to stopping, The Wagner Conglomerate, may had been planning something. You knew that your dad was tracking them, of course, but… we thought they were really going to try something against you while you were at home._

_“Our intel, however, was… it was wrong, ___. It was false. We think someone from their side managed to slip it in to draw you all out, so that they could target you easily, while you were vulnerable. If the intel hadn’t been wrong, he wouldn’t have died, ___. We didn’t know it was wrong, but I’m sorry. If we had have been more careful, this wouldn’t have happened.”_

The look in Lucian’s eyes tells you how guilty he feels. You don’t blame him for this, of course. You don’t blame anyone but the man who pulled the trigger.

Lucian opens the door to the rear seats of the SUV. Leo squeezes your hand, then lets go to climb into the back seats. Alyn walks up to your side, gently placing his hand atop your hair for a second, before joining his twin. Giles joins you and Robert, climbing into the right-most seat in the middle row. You follow, sitting in the centre seat, while Robert sits on your left.

The door closes, and your mother gets in, sitting in the passenger seat while an ICAC agent remains in the driver seat. In the next car, Albert, Byron and Nico sit in the middle row of seats, with Louis and Sid behind them, and Lucian in the passenger seat.

You grip Robert’s hand hard. Giles takes your other one, both watching you haze out, eyes focused on the camera crews on either side of the procession. The whole of Wysteria will be watching this. The ICAC is Wysteria’s main intelligence agency, and the agents in it are revered as soldiers by the general public, because they protect them from practically anything; major, national threats, criminal organisations, small-scale operations, all of it. Most people have been saved by them, directly or indirectly, at least once in their lives.

So, when an agent dies, especially a veteran like your father, who’s served for twenty-eight years, the whole country mourns for them.

Not too long later, the cars purr to life, and the motorbikes begin to move. You can hear a helicopter in the sky, capturing the procession for the nation to view on TV. You hardly care. You don’t have the mental capacity right now to even think about the fact that you’re probably going to end up on TV today.

Sighing softly, you lean into Robert’s side, dropping your head on his shoulder. His cheek rests against your hair, thumb smoothing over yours rhythmically. Giles does the same on your other side, and you squeeze his hand gently, communicating your thanks. He sends it back wordlessly.

The drive feels like an eternity. The cars roll through the streets, filled with people out to respect the loss of a guardian of Wysteria. Some are crying, you see. Some you even recognise, from when they’ve approached your father and thanked him for something he’s done. A woman you recall him saving from an abusive husband. A child you remember him removing from a suffocating, neglectful household. A family he saved from a large-scale fire that consumed their house from a gas leak.

He’s done so much for so many people. He’s left such a mark on this country, but it’s a good one. He was so selfless.

Soon, you arrive at the crematorium. The cars come to a smooth, gradual halt outside, and as per your instructions from the ICAC, you get out of the car with the boys. Your hands remain in Robert and Giles’, and they make no move to let go, even when the cameras at the sides focus on you. You stand near the doors to the crematorium, your mother on Robert’s other side, while the rest of the boys line up on Giles’ right. The ICAC agents who were closest to your father, including Lucian, lift the casket out of the hearse, holding it above them.

In a controlled, impeccable, perfect movement, they start to walk inside, carrying your father with them. Music is being played from the crematorium’s entrance, quiet, soft piano music, sombre but meaningful. Once they’re inside, you, your mother and the boys fall into step behind them, entering the centre room at the end of the foyer, the biggest one in the building. The agents take the casket to the conveyor, lowering it down with the utmost delicacy. They stand around it, heads bowed, for several seconds, before then saluting.

You take your place in the pews; in the inner side, next to your mother, with Robert on your left and the boys filling the rest of it to his left. The agents, Directors and Level Five members fill the rest of the room, murmuring lowly, until at last, the doors shut.

_It’s time. I’m the only one who’s going to speak._

Your body trembles with nerves, emotions and exhaustion, but you shake it off. Slipping the eulogy from your bag, you stand, moving to the speaking block.

You don’t look at anyone, instead keeping your eyes on the paper. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, and the pressure is immense. A brief wave of nausea rolls through you.

_Calm. It’s okay. Let’s do this, for him. One last goodbye._

Somewhat encouraged by the thought, you inhale deeply, then start to read everything you’ve spent a week writing down.

“Thank you all for coming today, to celebrate the life that was my father.”

_Not bad. Keep going; you can do it._

Another deep breath. You blink the tears back.

“My father was nothing short of a miracle. He was strong, in every single possible way, he was brave, selfless, and a role model for everyone. He was always doing his best, doing everything humanly possible to help others. He was always looking for ways to make everyone’s lives easier, from the little things to the big things. Even if it was just giving you a smile if you were feeling down, he’d be there. If you needed a hug or a joke, he’d give you one. He’d never fail you and never let you down.”

Your throat tightens, fingers gripping the wooden block tightly. Your muscles tremble.

_I miss you._

“But even if he did let you down, you’d never be angry at him. You couldn’t be. You couldn’t even be disappointed, because you’d know that he’d, straight away, do everything he could to make it up to you. He couldn’t bear to feel that he’d failed someone. He was too kind, too genuine, for that. He couldn’t just settle with a mistake; he’d exhaust himself trying to fix what was broken, even if the break was something tiny.”

_I want you here, dad._

“He saved so many people.” Your voice cracks, weakening mid-sentence. You hear you mother inhale sharply; she’s crying again. You close your eyes to ward off your own tears when they come, forcing your words out.

“Even in my relatively short life, I’ve seen so many people being saved by him. I’ve been out with him and had people approach us, thanking him for saving them from a fire or an abusive family, or from a threat from a gang. I’ve seen it so many times. There are so many lives in this country, and several others, too, that still exist because of him. He’s the reason why those families weren’t torn apart or destroyed entirely.”

More people are crying now, even ICAC agents. The Directors are, too, despite all things. A few tears manage to escape, but you couldn’t care less by this point. You just swallow hard, clear your throat, and carry on. For him.

_I love you so much, dad. I love you with all my heart. I always have and always will._

You inhale once more, standing up straighter. Somehow, when you speak again, your voice is stronger, more secure and stable.

“That’s what we’re celebrating today. We’re celebrating a life that was thoroughly, truly lived, one that awed and amazed and humbled the people of this country. We’re remembering my dad because he was so, so important, and meant the world to so many, even if in different ways. He was the purest, most wonderful person in my life, and without him in it, the world has become an undoubtedly darker place.”

There’s more to say, of course. It’s not written down, but you could talk about him forever. You could praise him for hours on end. But you won’t, because he wouldn’t want that, and the people here probably wouldn’t want it, either.

“I miss you so much, dad. I wish you were here, that you weren’t gone. But, most importantly, I love you, so, so much, with all that I am, and I always will.” Your eyes rise, coming to rest on your mother. Her agonised expression crumbles when you look at her, and she breaks down into violent, gut-wrenching sobs. Your own composure cracks, threatening to fall apart. “You’re so loved, dad. We’ll never stop loving you.”

Your legs are shaking. You’re about ready to collapse.

You fold up the paper and move out from the block, managing to make your way over to the pew. You barely get there, almost collapsing onto the wooden seat, before you start to lose it. Music fills the room, drowning out your mother’s sobs. You hunch forward, covering your mouth to muffle your oncoming cries.

An arm curls around your back, and you’re cradled against a warm, solid chest. Robert’s lips press against your hair. He buries your face in his shoulder, letting you hide from the world while you cry. You've broken your promise already.

He doesn’t let go, not even after the casket has disappeared behind the crimson curtains.

**♡♔♡**

The rest of the funeral passes in a numbed blur.

You accept the sympathies, apologies, hugs and kisses you receive from various people after the service. As usual with an ICAC funeral, everyone is taken to the after-service meal at an ICAC-run establishment in Hellebore, where food is served. You merely pick at your own meal, not feeling very hungry, staring blankly at the table for the most part. The boys watch on worriedly, but you take no notice of them.

Soon, it’s time to go home. You’re given last hugs and well wishes.

Before you leave, though, you’re stopped by the Level Five agents. One of them, an older man with greying hair and a thin, lean set, addresses you.

“Miss ___, I wanted to give you my sympathies in person. I’m very sorry for your loss; your father was an outstanding agent.” He greets, smiling coolly. Barely functioning, you can only nod. His smile widens just a little. “Apologies; I know you must be exhausted and in need of rest. I just wanted to take a moment to give you this.”

He reaches into his suit’s jacket pocket, producing what looks like a business card. He hands it to you, and you take it, baffled. Peering down at it, you realise that it’s his personal details, including a phone number, email and room number for the ICAC headquarters. Your eyes fly up to him, flooded with confusion. He gestures to it.

“That’s my contact information. I understand that this is soon to be telling you this, but the ICAC is here in particular to help those who have been wronged by criminal activity and such. Considering your already deep involvement with us, I wanted to let you know that the ICAC is very much willing and happy to bring you into our ranks. We can train you to be able to protect yourself and others even more than you already can, and can allow you to work with us in finding out exactly what happened with your father.”

That hits you like a knife in the chest.

_Investigating my own father’s death? Having to go back and think about that day over and over again?_

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get the chance.

Suddenly, a solid arm shoots out in front of you, shoving you behind its owner’s body, shielding you from them. It takes you a second to realise that it’s Lucian, and that he’s absolutely livid, from the way he’s holding himself.

“With all due respect, Sir, this is inappropriate. So soon after her father’s death, and considering his wish for her to not join the ICAC, you shouldn’t be speaking of this at all. I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from doing so.” He snaps, tone clipped and blunt. The Level Five agent holds his hands up in surrender.

“Now, now, Lucian. I’m simply making her options known to her. She at least deserves to know that she has a future with us, and that she isn’t helpless in this situation.” He counters gently, voice suspiciously innocent. Lucian’s frame trembles with anger. The decorations on his regalia rattle with the movement.

“She knows now. You have no further business with her, and she is not in the condition to discuss this.” He growls out. The agent just chuckles.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He moves just a bit closer, eye-to-eye with Lucian, before he lowers his voice. “However, I’d remind you of who you’re baring your teeth and barking at, Lucian. Remember your place.” He looks at you around Lucian’s form, giving you a nod. “Best wishes, Miss ___. Please consider my words, and take care of yourself.”

And, with that, he leaves, the other Level Five agents ghosting out with him.

Lucian shudders with rage, then spins around, grasping your upper arm hard enough to make you wince. He drags you away wordlessly, heading in the opposite direction to the agents. He takes you to the boys, not explaining why he’s dragged you over, before storming away. You can only stare after him, heart aching and mind torn.

Thankfully, not long later, you’re on your way home with your mother and the boys. The ICAC escort you back home, and you feel like death by the time you roll up to the path. You’re leaning into Giles heavily, feeling short of breath, stressed beyond belief from trying to hold it together all day and emotions, exhausted mentally and physically, and like your brain is floating on a stormy ocean with the dizziness you’re feeling.

Giles’ hand comes up to rest on your forehead for a brief second, and then he tenses against you, head moving. You can’t open your eyes to see what he’s doing, but it soon becomes obvious when Robert picks your other hand up, fingers resting against your pulse point in your wrist. Your shaking hasn’t ceased at all through the day, and now you feel warmer than usual, almost like you’re burning from the inside out, skin prickling.

“It’s slow.” Robert murmurs, probably trying to not be heard by you. Unfortunately, you hear him, and you groan softly in response.

_Slow heartbeat. Low blood pressure. That’s why I feel so awful._

Giles strokes your hair, and then does something with your bag, fingers brushing over your hand every few seconds. He stretches across you before he utters quietly, “When we stop, go to her room and make sure she can lie down.” He pauses. “Alyn, Leo, one of you find something for her to eat; not too high in sugar, but not low, either. She needs some in her system to bring her heart rate up. She needs water, as well.”

“Got it.” Alyn responds immediately.

“On it.” Leo answers a fraction of a second later.

The cars come to a soft halt, and your eyes drift open. Instantly, Robert is up, opening the door and all but bolting up the path to the house. Your vision blurs, becoming unfocused for a second, before it corrects itself. Wanting to be inside the house, you force yourself to sit up, then slide off the seat and to your feet outside the car. Giles is out and next to you straight away.

As soon as you’re up, everything tips. You fall back, against the body of the car, with a heavy, painful thud. Giles shouts in alarm, throwing his arms around you to stop you from falling. Your vision becomes dotted with black, and for a second, you can’t see a thing.

The others are getting out, you hear. Not wanting them to see you like this  _again_ , you blink, managing to rid your sight of blackness. You walk forward, using Giles to keep yourself up, and he supports you while you make your way up the path to the house. The door already open, you stride toward it, aching for the blissful sensation of security that comes with being home.

And it comes. But with it, comes your mind focusing on everything it’s been able to suppress for the day.

You can’t breathe.

The blackness returns, and this time, it doesn’t fade.

**♡♔♡**

Giles is already gripping you tightly when you collapse. He’s been waiting for it to happen all day.

When you suddenly go limp, dropping and hanging over his arm like a ragdoll, he jerks up to prevent you from hitting the floor. Wasting no time, he swings you up, collecting your legs in a swift motion before bolting through the hallway and to the stairs. He can hear the others running now, almost certainly having seen you fall.

“She’s down!” He shouts to them over his shoulder, urgent and absolutely serious. “One of you call the number the ICAC doctor gave us, now! Tell them she’s passed out again!”

He’s in the hallway to your bedroom now, and bursts into your bedroom with amazing speed. Robert is waiting, the covers on your bed pulled back and the blinds lowered halfway. His mouth tightens into a line upon seeing you in Giles’ arms, unconscious and unresponsive. Giles bounds over to the bed and lays you down supine, while Robert removes the pillow from under your head to allow your blood pressure to normalise again.

The others pour into the room, Leo pressing his phone to his ear while it rings.

Giles leans over you, cupping your face and tapping your cheek gently. “Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty…”

He continues to count the seconds you’ve been out. Robert takes your shoes off, since he  _knows_  you’re ridiculous enough to worry about your covers if you come around. He takes your wrist again, feeling for your pulse. He listens to Giles’ counting, using it as a guide for the beats. He counts them for a minute, working out your BPM.

_It’s too low. It’s not dangerous, but it’s low, and she’s been supine for a good minute and a half now._

He glances over at Giles. The latter swallows thickly. “One-twenty…”

_Too long. She’s been out too long. She should be waking up by now._

Giles shakes his head. “She shouldn’t still be unconscious. She should have come around by now.” Leo lowers his phone, and Giles glances at him, eyes for once wild and panicked. “What did they say?”

Leo rushes over, hopping onto the bed before crawling over to kneel next to your head. Sid is above you on the bed, kneeling and holding your face, trying to coax you awake. Nico is kneeling on it next to Leo, gripping the sheet. Louis is beside him, grasping your left hand, and Alyn is stood next to Robert, watching him count your heartbeats with intense concentration. Alyn has a cereal bar clenched in his fist, the other gripping a bottle of water. Byron and Albert are stood at the end of the bed, monitoring and hovering, unable to do anything else.

“She said give it another two minutes, and if she’s not awake, call her again. She’s on her way and will be here in five minutes.” Leo gushes out, studying your breathing, seeing it too shallow and skin moist with a cold sweat. Sid’s head snaps up, and he scowls, growling out,

“Another two damn minutes? She could have brain damage if we wait that long-”

“Sid, stop. Be quiet.” Robert cuts him off sharply, silencing the frustrated male.

Your head shifts slightly, moving against the hands cradling it. Your legs twitch, and your hands squeeze around those holding them. You moan softly, weakly. Your eyes move under your eyelids, mouth opening like you’re trying to speak.

Byron backs up, informing the others, “I will wait downstairs for the doctor, and make sure her mother is alright. She may not know she fainted.”

At the nods from the others, he and Byron make their way down, finding your mother staring listlessly into the distance, sat in her chair in the living room. They speak to her, trying to coax a response from her.

Meanwhile, you’re finally coming around. Alyn speaks to Robert lowly. “What was her BPM?”

Robert shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed with deep, unsettled concern. “Too low. It’s still hovering around 60 on average.”

Alyn curses under his breath. “Shit. She’s got too much to deal with and not enough in her body to keep her going. Goddammit.”

Your head, now having been released by the boys, flops to one side, then to the other, and a slight frown forms on your face. Your knees come up, almost like you’re curling up with pain. All of them are talking to you, trying to get a reply, but it’s now that Giles loses his patience and snaps, “Everyone, stop talking. Be silent.”

Shocked by the harsh order, they all do exactly that. Giles hunches over you, leaning in close to your face to whisper, “___, please, if you can hear me, let us know. If you can hear me speaking, squeeze Louis’ hand.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Louis sags with relief. “She squeezed. She can hear us.”

Giles exhales sharply, before he nods. “Thank heavens.” He smoothes a thumb over your cheekbone. “Try to open your eyes, ___. I promise, Princess, you’ll be able to sleep soon, but not yet. You need to stay awake for a little while, so that we can make sure you’re not at risk of more serious harm.”

Another short moan escapes you. Your fingers tighten around Louis’ hand, but he doesn’t care in the slightest. He’s just glad you  _can_  squeeze them.

Your eyes flutter open, gaze unfocused and hazy. They drift up to Giles’ face, recognition sparking in them ever so slightly. “Giles-” Your croak out. It sounds like you’re about to sob your heart out. “What’s- what’s happening? Why did I-”

Giles hushes you, expression showing clear relief at you speaking. “It’s alright. You’re just under severe stress and emotion, and are malnourished. We’re going to help you, but for now, just focus on staying awake. Can you do that for me?”

You manage a weak nod. Your eyes roll back for a moment, and you groan, seeming to slip out for a fraction of a second, before you open them again and inhale shakily.

Robert’s eyes meet Alyn’s again, but they’re grim now, even more unsettled than before. “Sixty-two.”

Alyn pales. This isn’t good.

Another two minutes pass of you mostly maintaining consciousness, and then footsteps pound down the corridor. The doctor from the ICAC rushes into the room with another behind her, both with bags made for paramedics. They instruct the boys to move away to give them room, and while they’re reluctant, they do as they’re told.

They stand back, watching the doctors pull out a small oxygen tank and mask, fixing it against your mouth. They also take out portable blood pressure monitors, and swiftly get to work attaching the cuff to your upper arm. While one monitors the readings, the other shines a torch in your eyes, asking you to follow his finger.

Byron and Albert stand at the door, and they gesture to the others to follow them. Byron speaks, words leaving no room for argument. “We should allow them to work. She will be fine; they can treat her better without us pressuring them.”

He’s right, and they all know it. Swallowing back the urge to protest, the boys file out of the room and downstairs, the living room now seemingly empty. Your mother’s stifled, muffled cries can be heard in the kitchen, and they make the boys grimace or wince in synchronisation. They all collapse onto the floor, chairs and couches heavily, tired and stressed to high hell.

“Fuck me,” Sid mutters, on the couch with his elbows on his knees and head in his hands. “She can’t carry on like this. She’ll end up with serious damage.”

“Agreed.” Giles sighs out shakily, rubbing his temples in an attempt to relieve some of the stress building in him. Leo, on the floor between Giles and Sid’s legs, nods, head flopping back onto the couch cushion.

“I’d do anything. Anything at all, I’d do it, or give it, to make her stop hurting. I can’t bear her being like this. I feel so helpless.” He moans, frustrated and tense, hands covering his face. Several of the others nod or make sounds of agreement.

“Everything about this is wrong.” Alyn snaps, on the floor like Leo, but between Sid and Louis’ legs, the latter sat beside Sid on the couch. “She’s never neglected her health like this. She’s not eating enough if at all, when she knows it’s killing her. She’s drinking barely anything, even though she’s damn aware that it’s dehydrating her.”

“It’s the grief.” Robert breathes out, tone raspy and hoarse. “Sometimes even the strongest people, like her, are taken down by it. She’s never lost a family member before; she’s never felt loss on this level in her life, so she doesn’t know how to respond to it.” He leans forward, hands finding his face for a moment, before his fingers card through his hair with frustration. “It’s like a child falling into the deep end without knowing how to swim.”

Leo and Alyn stiffen simultaneously. They know that feeling all too well. Leo swallows hard. “She’s drowning. She doesn’t know how to save herself.”

“She shouldn’t have to.” Alyn all but growls, fiercely, almost aggressively. The others’ eyes snap to him, taken aback by the intensity of his words. He glares at the ground beneath him, fists clenched atop his knees. “We had to do it on our own, Leo, at first. But then she was there, and she brought us out of it. She didn’t know how then, either, but she was there. She supported us enough that she stopped  _us_  from drowning. Now, we need to do the same for her.”

Their eyes meet, identical orbs locking together. Leo’s expression hardens with resolve and determination. “She’s always protecting us. Only a few times has she ever needed help, but she’s always giving it to us. We protect her now. It’s our turn to support her and make her strong. We owe her at least that.”

Alyn nods. “From now on, we protect her. We don’t let her try to fix herself. Whether she wants it or not, we’re going to fix her ourselves.”

The others have been listening to the immutable decision of the Crawford twins silently, but all of them are in agreement. There are nods, sounds of satisfaction, and even a smile from Nico. It’s weak, but it’s there.

They’ve made their choice. They’re going to help you, to save you from drowning in your grief. They’re going take the first real chance they’ve ever had, to repay you even just a little, for everything you’ve done for them.

**♡♔♡**

You fall asleep deeply once the paramedics stabilise you and instruct you on what you need to do to get yourself healthy again. As such, when you wake up, it takes a long, long time.

Everything comes back gradually, in bits and pieces. Your senses return to you sluggishly, body operating at an abysmal rate, until at long last, you can open your eyes.

The boys have slept over again. It’s really not that surprising; you’re so used to them sleeping over here, or in one of their houses when you’re all together, that there’s nothing odd about it now. It’s just become normality to you.

Alyn and Leo are curled up in the beanbags, Byron, Albert and Nico are on the sofa-bed, Robert and Giles are in the armchairs, and Sid and Louis are on either side of you on your bed, lying on top of the quilt with thinner blankets covering them. They’re all fast asleep.

You find your phone under your pillow, and idly wonder if one of the guys put it there for you. Pulling it out, you peer at the time.

09:13

You exhale slowly.

_It was around six in the evening when I fell asleep; I was out for roundabouts fifteen hours. No wonder I feel like death already._

Heaving yourself up, you realise that you’re still in your funeral clothes. Shaking your head at the onslaught of emotions and memories from yesterday, you weakly sit up, then crawl off the bed and pad over to your drawers.

Finding some fresh underwear and pyjamas, since it’s Saturday and you’re not doing anything if your life depends on it, you pad out of the room, closing your door quietly. Heading to the family bathroom, you run yourself a bath, sinking down onto the side of it while it runs. Shrugging off the dress, you sit there in your underwear, cradling the fabric in your arms.

As you go to fold it up, something digs into your finger, and you pause in surprise. Fumbling around in the material, you finally find its source.

_The Level Five agent’s details. He offered a place for me._

You’re immediately hit by guilt. You father was insistent on you not joining the ICAC, adamant that it’s a death-wish for people like you and him, who can’t help  _wanting_  to help people. He always said that he regretted joining, not because he didn’t like it, but because of the emotional strain it caused you and your mother. He always asked you never to even consider joining, so that your mother wouldn’t have to cope with the possibility of, or just outright, losing you as well as him.

Your lips press together.

_But I can protect more people if I join. I could stop all of this, everything I’ve gone through, from happening to other people. Father did it himself; he risked hurting me and mum, so that he could protect everyone else. It’s a small price to pay._

You turn the card over in your hands, smoothing your fingers over the edges and corners. That awful sense of uselessness and lack of purpose swallows you whole again, thoughts whirling into a dark, hollow abyss.

_Right now, all I’m doing is failing to grieve properly. I’m not getting better. I’m just sinking. If I joined, I could at least do that while becoming useful to someone. I could have a purpose. The guilt of doing nothing but being miserable would disappear._

Your free hand reaches back, shifting to turn the taps off since the bath is full enough to get into. As they brush over the metal, you hesitate.

_Am I really doing this?_

Your dad’s face appears in your mind. Fresh guilt pours in, but somehow, it’s bearable. Your logic is finally able to supersede your emotions. Your fingers tighten around the tap.

_I’ve always done as you’ve asked, dad. I’ve never defied you. I always abided by your decisions._

Your heart aches, just for a moment.

_Sorry, dad. But this time, I’m making my own choice. This is what I need to do, for my own sake._

You leave the taps running.

Grabbing your phone, you tap the phone number he provided in, staring down at the screen. Once you do this, there’s no turning back. You join, and that’s it; it’s a commitment, a promise to them that you’ll serve the country. It’s not something to take lightly.

_But thinking about this, the pain that’s been there for a week straight is finally easing up. I’m not wrong about this._

You press the call button, lifting the phone to your ear.

The rings seem almost intimidating, and your heartbeat jumps slightly at the weight of what you’re doing. In your mind, you apologise to them all; your dad, for going against his most absolute wish. Your mum, for hurting her even more, to help yourself. The boys, for doing something so selfish and self-preserving.

“Barrett Amell speaking.” The agent answers after a few seconds, calm and cool and collected like he was yesterday. Fear shivers through you, but you press forward, forcing yourself to speak.

“Hello, Sir. This is ___ ____. I apologise if I’ve disturbed you.” You apologise, nervously turning the tap down so that the water isn’t audible through the phone. He replies swiftly, almost eagerly.

“Ah, Miss ___! No worries; you haven’t disturbed me at all. How are you?” You make a face. After being so blunt yesterday,  _now_  he’s being considerate?

“I’m…” You could lie. You really, really want to lie, but it’ll get you nowhere and you know it. You sigh. “I’m not coping well, Sir. I’m really struggling; I passed out yesterday, after I got home.”

He makes a sound of understanding. “With all due respect, I’m not surprised. You looked ill throughout the day. It’s expected, though, considering the concussion you suffered as well as the emotional distress you’re feeling.” You nod to yourself. It’s true. “So, I presume you’re calling regarding the proposition I offered to you yesterday?”

This is it. You inhale deeply. “Yes. I have my answer.” Digging your nails into your palm to stop it from shaking, you deliver the words you know your father would be disappointed in you for saying. “I accept. I would like to join the ICAC, to become stronger and protect people. Please.”

It sounds like he laughs softly, but it’s almost relieved, as well. Odd. “Wonderful. I promise you, Miss ___, it is a wise choice to allow us to manage your situation with you. It is not one you will regret in the slightest. I would like to personally see through your application and induction. When are you available to visit our headquarters? It will be for perhaps three hours, to formally introduce you and take all the information we need from you, then show you around the different teams we have. I will work with you; choose a day.”

Your eyes drift to the door.

The boys are here today, and maybe tomorrow. They’ll be furious about this; you need to go when they’re in school. You’re still allowed to be absent while you’re grieving.

“Maybe… Monday?” You suggest timidly. He makes a sound of satisfaction.

“Perfect. I will clear my schedule for the day and have a car sent for you in the morning. Is ten o’clock suitable for you?” He asks. You blink, having not expected a car to be sent for you. It seems a bit excessive; you’re just a potential agent at this point.

“There’s no need to send a car, Sir. I can make my way there myself-” He interrupts your weak protest, insisting,

“Nonsense, Miss ___. I was a close friend of your father’s; I want to ensure personally that you receive all the support and care possible in this difficult time. Now, is ten suitable for you?”

_Lucian obviously didn’t trust this man, and Lucian is the one who was the closest to my dad in the ICAC. Somehow, I doubt he’s telling the truth. I don’t think my father considered him a “friend”, if Lucian treated him with such distrust. Still, I can’t be unreasonable; it could hinder my application if I am._

“Yes, ten is fine for me, Sir. Thank you very much.” You relent, turning the tap off before the bath gets too full.

“Perfect. Then, I shall see you on Monday, Miss ___. I look forward to meeting you again.” He replies, tone pleasant and somehow even more satisfied. Unease tightens in your stomach, and you close your eyes, hoping you haven’t just made a huge mistake.

“On Monday, then. I look forward to meeting you as well, Sir. Goodbye.” You respond politely.

“Goodbye.”

You hang up immediately, all but chucking your phone onto the windowsill.

_What did I just do…_

You groan quietly, getting up and stripping out of your clothes. Feeling more lethargic by the second, you sink down into the water, basking in the intense heat surrounding you. You stare up at the ceiling, expression for the most part blank, but your eyes tell a whole other story.

All this time, it occurs to you, you’ve lived a privileged, sheltered, lucky life. You’ve had two parents who loved you, absolutely, truly, and never wanted you to be unhappy. They always clothed, fed, loved, supported and embraced you, doing everything in their power to make your life the best it could possibly be. They protected you from harm at all times, even endangering themselves to keep you safe. They gave so much to ensure your security.

And now, when you’ve simply lost your father, you feel like the world’s crumbling around you.

Other people have it so much worse, you muse morbidly, thinking about the extreme suffering too many people deal with every single day. Everywhere, at all times, people are dying. People are hurting. People are fighting for their lives. People are being beaten, tortured, oppressed, killed, and worse.

And yet, here you are, barely able to function because one person has been ripped away from you.

Pathetic, you conclude. It’s disgraceful, that you’ve been so weak, when you have little excuse.

And so, you decide, you’ll force yourself to be stronger. You’ll force yourself to be able to cope with anything that happens, so that you’ll never be able to feel like your life is collapsing in on itself when it’s not remotely close. You’ll make yourself strong and stable enough to handle anything that comes your way, but also at others.

You’ll take on the burdens and responsibilities of others, will do whatever is humanly possible, to protect and shield them from harm. Whether it’s mental, physical or emotional, you won’t let it touch them.

From your mother to your boys, to classmates to the random person on the street… they’re yours to protect now. It’s your duty, more so now that you’ll be with the ICAC, to keep them safe, secure and content.

The moment you choose this, it’s like a thousand weights lift from your shoulders. The guilt dissipates almost entirely. The grief remains, but there’s strength now, coiling and forming inside you, from your decision. Your mind knows that, while you have pain, the pain of others is more important. By dealing with the agony everyone else is suffering with, it’ll allow you to rationalise and better perceive your own agony. You’re being selfless in order to be selfish.

It’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

For the first time in a week, for the first time since you witnessed a bullet shatter your father’s skull and end his life, you smile. You really, truly smile, relief rushing through you hard enough to take your breath away. You inhale softly, heart thumping away against your ribs. Your eyes drift shut.

_You always told me to look for my own happiness, dad. You told me to look for my own reason for living._

You may as well start learning how to hold your breath for longer. After all, you’ll need it in the ICAC.

_Well, I’ve found it. It’s what you didn’t want, but it’s going to save me. I haven’t failed you. You told me to be happy._

Your body slips under the water. Your mouth stays closed.

_I found it. I found my reason for living, and my happiness. It’s making the people around me content, safe and loved. It’s devoting my time to giving them everything you’ve always given me, so I’ll never forget what it was like when you were here._

**♡** **♔** **♡**


	5. Part V | Alyn | Safety - 12th February 2015 | 16 | Year 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.
> 
> They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.
> 
> “We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”
> 
> So, why did things change, and how?
> 
> Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.

**♡♔♡**

The twins have always been picked on. For the most part, it’s not been a major problem. Yes, they’ve been attacked. They’ve been singled out and mocked. They’ve been threatened. It’s never gotten to them.

But today is not like all the other days. Today is dangerous.

Alyn walks down the corridor with Leo by his side, despite him preferring to walk alone. They’ve just come from Spanish with you, and it’s break now. You’ve gone to put your folder in your locker, and said you’d meet them in the usual place with the others, in the canteen. The hallways are quiet, with the students all getting something to eat or drink, and the teachers in their rooms or doing the same. Upstairs, where they are, is completely empty by now.

At the thought of you, Alyn’s cheeks tint just slightly. He scowls.

_Why do I feel like this? Goddammit, she’s a friend. That’s it. Maybe I’m getting sick._

He doesn’t get to think on this more, however.

As they round the corridor, Alyn gets a mere glimpse of a number of tall bodies stood before him, for a fraction of a second.

And then a hand shoots out, fingers fastening around his throat. Amidst his panic, fury and disgust, he sees the same happen to Leo. They’re both thrown back, against the wall, hard enough to knock the air out of them.

“I’m sick of you two. Fucking mutants. Who the hell has twins that look different? You’re both defective.” The student holding Alyn snarls, a male, maybe 6”1’. Leo’s is slightly shorter, but they’re both stocky and strongly built. Alyn grabs his wrist, grunting at the feeling of the student’s fingers digging into his neck.

“How are you even alive? You’re both so weird. It’s messed up.” A female, stood to the side, looks on with disgust at the twins, lips twisted cruelly. She looks to Alyn’s attacker. “Maybe we should set that right.”

The one holding Leo grins ferally. “Sounds good to me.”

Without further warning, he sends his knee into Leo’s stomach, drawing a choked gasp from him. His body contorts, curling in as much as possible while being restrained.

While Alyn has never been overly loving toward his brother, he still does actually love him. He’s his twin. They ‘share a soul’, so to speak. Despite his best efforts to disprove the theory, it’s like Alyn feels Leo’s pain, an echo of his other half’s suffering.

And it makes him furious. The rage is blinding.

“Motherfucker!” He roars, kicking out at his attacker. He gets him hard in the groin, and the student collapses to his knees, gasping for breath around his shouts of pain. Alyn lurches for the one holding Leo, but several pairs of hands grip his arms. More fly into his stomach. More into his ribs. A knee collides with his back.

Agony engulfs his spine. He screams, unable to hold it back.

“Alyn!” Leo tries to shout, but he’s cut off himself, several more male students now joining in with the attack. He sees them doing just as much damage to him, kicking, punching, clawing and slapping. Alyn strains against his own restraints, but they hold fast, dragging him back, only to kick him in the chest as well.

“Leo!” He yells back. He’s desperate. There’s too many. If it were three or four, he could take them on. There’s easily ten here. They don’t stand a chance.

He doesn’t want to bring anyone else into it, nor does he want help, but they need it.

And he knows you’re his best bet. He’s seen what you can do.

“___!”

Leo’s wide, scarlet eyes find Alyn’s, full to the brim with agony, mental, emotional and physical. Alyn growls. “Do it!”

Another fist slams into Leo’s stomach. He hunches over, now pinned back by his arms. The students watch on delightedly, too busy laughing to hear him speak.

“H-Hey, Siri…” He chokes out. He barely hears the ding indicating that Siri’s listening. He coughs, lowering his voice to hide his words, making it look like he’s trying to catch his breath. “Message ___.”

He hears it asking what he wants to say, and he gasps out the first thing that comes to mind. Where he is. “S-C-I Lab 7. Confirm.”

“Message sent to ___: S-C-I Lab 7.”

Leo almost collapses with relief, but it’s cut short by a knee slamming into his temple. He crumples to the floor, unconscious.

Alyn can only hope it worked, somehow still stood, even through the constant beating his body is taking. He lashes out, throwing his body around as much as physically possible, elbows and fists slamming into anything he can get. “You fucking cowards! Pathetic little shits!”

“Shut up, freak!”

Another agonising punch to the back of his neck. His legs give out beneath him, sending him to his knees. He can’t do anything. There’s too much to deal with on his own.

_Leo…_

His mind is alive with panic, now. Leo’s on the floor. He’s not moving.

_Don’t you dare…_

“Hey!”

_That voice…_

He hears the distinctive sound of flesh meeting concrete, then a sharp, infuriated scream.

_That beautiful fucking voice._

“What the fuck? Who do you think you are, bitch?”

“Your worst fucking nightmare.”

Alyn has never, ever, in his life, been so terrified. The livid sound of your words is nothing less than mortifying.

There’s another sound of something like a punch, followed by a thud. A crack; someone’s head hits the ground hard. A scream follows. One of the students in front of Alyn all but flies into the wall, and then a tiny-looking fist slams into her stomach, so hard Alyn almost feels sick. The student crumples to the floor in a second.

He only catches a glimpse of you, but it’s all he needs.

Fury. Bared teeth. Hostile eyes. Intention and capability to maim if not kill. A murderous look of hatred.

Your leg sweeps out, knocking the last pupil in front of Alyn clean off his feet. His back slams into the floor, head going afterward. He howls in pain, curling in on himself.

“Demented bitch!” Alyn’s main attacker hisses, lurching straight at you. You sprint toward him just as fast, no hesitation in you at all, even though he’s so much taller.

He goes in for a punch. You duck at the last second, breezing under his arm, before you whip around.

Alyn will never forget the next few seconds.

Your fist swings back, colliding with his neck so hard he chokes instantly. His head slams into the wall, and he crashes to the ground, down in one hit.

Alyn’s thoughts go very quiet for a long few seconds.

_This is what it’s done to her. She saw her father murdered in front of her last year. She was recruited by the organisation that deals with the aftermath of the criminals who do such things. She was trained to fight, to protect and harm when necessary. She learnt to kill if she needed to. She knows how to use any person’s body against them. She could end the lives of everyone here if she wanted to, easily._

He can hear footsteps now, rapid, loud.

_And she’s not alone._

There’s a shout of anger behind him. Flesh meeting flesh again. A cry of pain, then a thud.

_There’s people all through this school who are like that. The teachers are all a part of it. They all have those same licenses, those same permissions, to harm when it’s appropriate. They’ve fought students in the past. They’ll do it without hesitation. They encourage ___ to do it if someone’s in danger._

He’s finally released, and he collapses to the floor, body and mind aching. He’s dizzy, can taste blood, and pain is zipping up and down his back. He can’t breathe.

“Good work, ___. Was this all you?”

_Is that Mr. Anderson? The headteacher?_

“Yeah. They were beating the shit out of them. They kicked Leo in the head; there was a threat of death. I couldn’t risk it.”

“I understand. The cameras should have picked it up, don’t worry about it. Considering the charges against them all, your reaction will be more than appropriate.” There’s a whistle. “Eleven, though. Damn. I know Lucian trained you intensively and a lot harder than most, but that’s still a feat for anyone.”

You grunt. Alyn smells your vanilla scent waft over to him, then feels unnaturally gentle hands on his face, brushing over his skin, impossibly tender. “They were awful fighters. They just knew the weak spots and went for them. They didn’t know how to protect themselves. Probably never needed to, because they travelled in a pack. Why learn defence when your victim can’t fight back?”

There’s a hum. “Well, it’s safe to say all of these will be expelled at the very least. Once we can identify who did what, I imagine a few will be going to jail, as well.”

“I fucking hope so.” You mutter. Alyn can feel blood building up at the back of his throat. “They should all get the needle. Eleven to two. It’s sick. Pathetic.”

_She cares so much, it makes her scary._

“Daryl and Lukas will help you get Alyn and Leo to the infirmary, although I’m thinking they’ll probably need to go to the hospital as well.”

“Yeah. I think Leo at least has concussion. I’m not certain about Alyn yet. They’ve got no one to go with them or come to sign things for them.”

“Don’t worry; one of us will go, and we’ll let you come as well. You can tell them more about their injuries since you saw it happening.”

“Good. I can give them the basic information they’ll need, as well.” Your fingers run over his cheek. It stings just slightly. “Alyn? Can you hear me? I know it hurts, but I need you to talk to me. Can you say my name? Do you know who I am?”

Lights dance in front of his eyes. His head is throbbing. Of course he remembers. “___… _____… idiot…”

There’s a soft exhale above him. “Yeah. I am an idiot.” You press your palm against his forehead. “Can you feel my hand on you? Where is it?”

“Forehead.” He mutters, voice cracking. He realises what you’re doing. “Ears ringing. I can hear.” He forces his eyes open.

You hover above him, face close, eyes now calmer and swarmed with concern. There’s still underlying anger, of course, but it’s an ember now. It’s under control. You manage a small smile. “Hey.”

He winces. “Hey.”

You lift your head, nodding to someone he can’t see. “Okay, let’s move them. They’re both stable.”

Alyn groans. You move away, and the absence of you there is just as painful as his injuries. “___…”

“I’m here, Alyn. We’re just moving you to the infirmary. Just bear with it for a few minutes, okay?” An unfamiliar arm slips around his back, his own arm curled around someone’s neck. He winces again, feeling his chest ache in response. “That’s Daryl. You probably know him better as Mr. Summers; you can trust him.”

_The P.E. teacher?_

Alyn squints, looking to the side. He gets a warm grin in return from the man himself. “Starting to come around a bit? Guess the secret’s out, now. Call me Daryl. I hate all the formality.”

“Right.” Alyn grunts out, coughing. He uses Daryl to heave himself up, letting the teacher support all of his weight. He’s amazed by how muscular he is; he’s solid. “ICAC?”

He chuckles. Alyn can see the P.E. teacher for the college students doing the same with Leo, but you’re supporting his other side; he’s completely limp, you see, and looks like he’s still unconscious.

There’s blood all over him. His insides twist with nausea.

The teachers clear the hallways to the infirmary, and after a painful walk down, Alyn is settled down on one of the beds. He feels better once he’s lying back and relaxes his muscles. It’s warm in the room, so Alyn doesn’t protest when the nurse takes his jacket off, then asks if it’s okay to do so with his shirt, since he’s bleeding through it. He gives a half-arsed sound of agreement, too worn out to respond properly.

His head lolls to the side. Leo is on the bed next to him, shirtless, and is still out. The nurse checking him over sends Alyn a smile. “He’s alright. I’m afraid you’ll both need to go to the hospital to check for internal wounds, but there’s nothing immediately concerning. Leo has suffered quite a few blows to the head. I’m sure he’ll be fine, though.”

Alyn does his best to help the nurse get his shirt off, groaning. “He’d better be.”

“___, one of them slashed your arm. That’s not nothing. Let me see.”

“Stop it. It’s fine.”

Alyn glances to his left. You’re stood to the side, scowling at the headteacher. He’s stood next to you, and watches you with concern. “I know you’re worried about them, but it won’t help for you to be dripping blood everywhere. Let’s just treat it and get it over with.”

Your jaw clenches. “I’ll do it myself. Just leave it alone; they’re the ones you should be worrying about. Leo hasn’t even woken up yet.”

Mr. Anderson sighs.

Alyn’s gaze touches on your arm. He can see your right hand settled on your left bicep, arms crossed defensively. He can also see the blood soaking through your blazer, seeping through your fingers and staining your hand as it runs down the skin.

_Idiot._

“___, you’re bleeding. For fuck’s sake – sorry for swearing, I know -, just treat it, will you? I’m not asking. Just do it.” He snaps.

He sees your defiant expression weaken slightly. Your scowl deepens, before you scoff. “Fine. You’re all mad. It’s nothing.”

You shrug off your blazer, revealing your white shirt underneath, the sleeve entirely crimson. You don’t look remotely bothered, even though everyone else in the room freezes at the sight of blood now dripping from your fingertips. You roll up the sleeve with a tiny wince, exposing your upper arm.

There’s a gash there, maybe four inches long and thin. You roll your eyes. “Great. Now I’m going to have another scar.” You send Mr. Anderson a look. “And you need to start doing checks on the students. He shouldn’t have had a knife in the first place.”

He rubs the back of his head, looking unsure of what to do, being reprimanded by a student. “Yes, I think I’ll do something about that very soon.”

You end up pressing a wad of cloth against the wound to stem the bleeding, since an ambulance is on the way for the twins and you’re told to go with them. You perch next to Alyn on his bed when he tells you to, eyes never leaving the door. The teachers watch on almost nervously, the nurses now done with treating what they can, and they look just as uncertain.

Alyn frowns. “Oi.”

You look down at him. “What?”

He’s heard that voice before. He knows exactly what it is. “Stop being nervous. It’s done. They’re not coming back any time soon; I doubt they even can.”

Your frown deepens, body language expressing tension everywhere. “I’m not nervous.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re worried. It’s plain on your face.” He reaches up with his left arm, paying little attention to the pain that surges through his chest, to flick you on the forehead lightly. “Smile, will ya? You’re usually the one cheering us up when shit happens.”

You say nothing. Your eyes return to the doors. Alyn blinks.

_Something’s wrong. This isn’t just normal nervousness. There’s something more going on here._

Ten minutes later, the ambulances arrive. Leo is lifted onto a stretcher, then wheeled into one ambulance, while Alyn is assisted in shuffling over to the other one before lying down again on the stretcher inside. The paramedics sit you down in the extra seat at the back, behind Alyn’s stretcher, and they ask you to keep the cloth pressed to your arm while they look over him. You nod mutely, doing as they say.

Once it starts to move, you see that Alyn’s looking at the needles on packets on the side grimly, seemingly avoiding looking at what the paramedics are doing to him. “I don’t like needles.”

You laugh softly, albeit weakly, at the indignant mutter. “Same. You might end up with one in the hospital, though.”

He huffs, letting his head fall back. He stares up at your face.

_It’s embarrassing, but I should probably thank her. She came to help us straight away, and she got hurt for us. She’s not remotely concerned about herself, when she’s got a gash in her arm._

“What is it?” You ask, gazing down at him just as intently.

He diverts his eyes for a moment, feeling flustered. He swallows it down for the sake of not being a complete arse, looking you in the eye. “Thanks, for helping. You saved us back there. I’m grateful.”

A slow, beaming smile graces your lips. You let out another breathy laugh, and Alyn’s already-existing blush darkens swiftly. You flick him very, very lightly on the forehead. “It’s not exactly something I want gratitude for, but you’re welcome, regardless. I’m glad that you contacted me and asked for help. That’s what I want; for you to trust me and rely on me. I’m grateful that you did.”

He can’t help smiling himself, nodding gently. “Yeah. I guess we do trust you and rely on you now. As long as you’ll do the same with us.”

“Of course.”

Soon, you all arrive at the hospital, and Alyn and Leo are taken to have scans straight away, to prevent any internal bleeding, once you tell the doctors what happened. You’re taken through A&E to get your arm looked at, since it’s bleeding quite a bit, and there aren’t many people in A&E anyway. A doctor soon steps into the room you’re in, studying you sat on the bed sideward on, cloth still pressed to your arm. It’s a man, you see, maybe in his early twenties, and he has the typical doctor’s clothes on with a file tucked under his arm.

“Hello, Miss ____. How are you feeling?” He asks. Your head drifts up and down.

“I’m okay.” You answer simply; you’re not feeling particularly talkative. He just grins, coming over to stand in front of you. He skims through the notes, nodding to himself, before he sets it down on the side.

“Right! If you could lie down for me, that’d be wonderful. Can I call you ___?” He asks brightly. You can’t help but smile, lying back and nodding.

“Yeah. What’s your name?” You reply. He pulls the curtain around the bed, answering,

“Matthew, but you can call me Matt if you want. Everyone calls me that.” He returns to your side now, asking, “Do you mind if it’s me who treats you, or would you like a female?”

You shake your head. “I don’t mind at all. I don’t have a preference.”

He nods. “Okay! Would you mind just unbuttoning your shirt for me, so I can see your whole arm?”

You do as he says, taking the injured arm out of its sleeve and exposing the wound. You don’t particularly care that he can see some of your bra, all things considered. More crimson oozes out of the gash, granted slower than before, through the dried flakes. “Ouch. My notes say it was a knife wound. What happened?”

You sigh, feeling him starting to clean away the blood from your arm and hand with cleansing wipes. “Two of my friends in school were attacked by some students. I stopped them, but one had a knife and I didn’t move quick enough. He caught me as I turned.”

He winces, checking your arm for blood. Once he’s satisfied that it’s completely clean, he pours some cleaning alcohol onto a piece of cloth, holding your arm tenderly. “This will hurt quite a bit, but try to stay still for me.”

At your nod, he presses down on it, monitoring your face. You wince, feeling the burning of your skin in response to he alcohol. Your muscles throb, making you chew the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut. “Are those friends the ones who were just brought in? The ones who went to get scans done?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You answer through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the urge to pull away when he wipes more alcohol onto it. “One of them might have some concussion, but I wasn’t certain. They both took a beating. The students were merciless.”

“I see.” He fiddles around with something behind him, you hear, while still pressing the cloth to the injury. “How many were there, out of curiosity?”

You grunt. “Thirteen.”

You feel him go still for a second, as if he’s lost his composure. “O-Oh. And you fought them? Was anyone else with you?” He wipes your arm again. “You’ll need stitches for this. Is that okay?”

You nod, keeping your eyes closed. “Yeah, that’s fine.” You wince and clench your fists, feeling him starting to sew the torn skin up, and keep talking to distract yourself. “I took down eleven of them, and then the teachers arrived and dealt with the last two.”

“Wow. That’s amazing. I’m sure your friends are extremely grateful for your help.” He breathes out, sounding awed. You manage a wry smile.

“The one who was awake did thank me for it, but to be completely honest, it’s not exactly something you want to be thanked for. It just infuriates me more, that they have to thank me for stopping people from beating them to death.” You murmur all this in a strained voice, feeling uncomfortable from the stitches being threaded through your flesh. He hums.

“I suppose that’s true. At least you did prevent them from suffering more harm, though.” He wipes something cold over your skin, and there’s a tugging sensation in your arm, odd and marginally uncomfortable. You feel bandages being wrapped around your arm, then secured.

“Okay! I think you’re all done. You’ll need to keep the stitches dry for at least a week, and keep this bandage on for three days, unfortunately. After that, you can just come back here and tell the reception that you need them taken out, or you can go to your local doctor. You should have them removed after ten days maximum, though.”

You take all this in and nod, sitting up. Your arm’s tender, but you can use it. You move it experimentally. “No P.E. then?”

He grins. “Nope, you’ll need to be gentle with it. I can write a note, if you’d like.”

You grin back, even with the stress building up in you. “Yes, please.”

He goes off to write it, and it’s at this point that there’s a knock at the door. You hear Matt answer it, and then the distinct sound of your mother’s voice straight after.

You smack your palm against your head.

_Of course they called her._

She bursts through the curtain, practically flying over to you and engulfing you in a tight hug. You wince, feeling her arm press against the wound. “Ow. Ow. Mum. You’re touching it. Please move.”

She jerks back, looking ready to cry. “Sorry! Oh, God. Are you okay? Where are you hurt? How bad is it?”

You put your hands on her shoulders, noticing a dull throb in your bicep. “Mum, I’m fine. Alyn and Leo got attacked and called for help, so I did. I got slashed with a knife, but it’s been stitched. Calm down.”

She nods, seemingly to settle slightly. “Right. Okay. And you weren’t hurt anywhere else? They didn’t get you other than that?”

You shake your head. “The most I’ll have is a few bruises. None of them got in anything worth thinking about.” Matt pops his head in now, and you glance at him gratefully. “Right?”

He nods. “Yep! She’s fine, Miss. She was briefly looked over when she got in here, and she’s fine. Her arm was the only place to suffer an injury, luckily.” He hands you a leaflet on how to take care of your stitches, then a note. You read it while he explains the care to your mum.

_“Please excuse Miss ___ ____ from her P.E. lessons for the next ten days while she recovers. She has suffered a minor laceration in her arm and must not stress the stitches in it. Please do not hesitate to contact me for further information._

_Dr. Matthew Henner.”_

Underneath that is his contact information. You smile, looking up at him when he finishes talking to your mum. “Thank you, Matt.”

He tips an invisible hat, grinning all the way. “Of course, ___.”

Your mum produces what you see is a shirt from her bag, holding it out to you. “Here. The school told me when they rang that your shirt had blood on it, so I brought this with me.”

You take it with a thank you, and both of them step out while you get changed. Once you’re fixed up and have tucked it into your skirt, you stand up, retrieving your things, including your now ripped and bloodied blazer. You heave out a sigh of relief when you see that your phone doesn’t have any blood on it.

You emerge from the room, giving them a smile. “Done.” You look to your mum. “My blazer’s ripped and has blood on it, though. Sorry.”

She just hugs you so hard you can barely breathe, scolding, “Don’t you dare apologise, missy. I’ll be having none of that. Leave it to me.” She pulls back, looking you in the face. “Home?”

You immediately shake your head. “I want to make sure Alyn and Leo are okay first. They’ve got no one to come and see them.”

She immediately seems to understand, lips parting. “Of course. I didn’t even think about that.” She looks to Matt. “Do you have any idea of where they’ll be?”

He bobs his head up and down. “Yep. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to where they should be.”

“Thank you.” She says appreciatively, and you echo it.

She tucks you under her shoulder, taking your blazer from you so that you only have your phone, before you follow Matt out of the room. He takes you upstairs, through corridors and lengthy hallways, until you reach a quieter wing of the hospital. He consults the receptionist there, asking for their bed numbers after acquiring their names from you. He takes you into a room, one that’s lined with beds all the way down, some with their curtains drawn and some not.

“They should be just down here, at the end.” He says, escorting you down.

As soon as you reach the end and go through the curtains, pulled together, you see them both, lying in the beds next to each other. They’re both awake now, it seems.

Leo has bandages around his head, as well as some smaller stitch bandages on his cheek and jaw. You can see that his shirt is still around him but opened, exposing a blossom of bruises to the air. Alyn has some bandages around his neck and similar ones on his face, and his shirt is open as well, showing bruising all over his stomach as well.

Your heart practically explodes with relief, all the worry and tension in you disappearing. You heave out a heavy breath to rid yourself of it, throat thickening.

Both of them seem surprised to see you, but then Leo beams, looking just as relieved. “___. Thank God. Are you okay?”

You nod quickly, barely noticing Matt slip away behind you, disappearing out of sight. “I’m fine. Are you? How are both of your injuries? Is there anything major?”

Alyn shakes his head. “He’s got a mild concussion, a fractured rib, lots of cuts on his head and face and enough bruising to keep him purple for a week on his stomach. I’ve got bruising as well, but on my back more, and some on my neck as well. There’s nothing serious or long-term, though.”

You nod slowly, trying to calm yourself.

They’re okay. You’re okay. You didn’t lose them. They’re here.

Leo sees this, eyes softening. He reaches out to you. “Come here, ___.”

You go to him without hesitation. He pulls you into his arms, tugging you to the side so you’re sitting on the bed next to him, and you bury your face in his shoulder. You don’t even think about how your arm hurts when you do it, simply basking in the fact that they’re both okay and that you got them out.

They’re hurt, but they’re safe. They’re alive. You didn’t lose them.

Your mother smiles gently, mouthing, “I’ll go and get some drinks.”

Leo nods and strokes your hair as she leaves, resting his cheek against it. “Thank you, ___. You saved us. Thank you so much.”

You rub your face against his shoulder in a failed nod. “I don’t want you to thank me, but you’re welcome. Thank  _you_ , for calling me. I’m glad that you asked me for help.”

He sighs into your locks, rubbing your back with the hand that’s not in your hair. “Are you okay? Alyn said you were cut. Have you been seen by a doctor?”

You nod again, speaking into his shirt. “Yeah. It’s all stitched up, so I’m okay.” You pull back, seeing him peering at you, trying to work out which arm it is. You pull your sleeve up, showing him the bandage wrapped around the stitching. He gently tugs it away, only slightly, to peer through at the wound. “It’s only shallow. Honestly, it’s nothing to worry about.”

He frowns, eyes narrowing. “___…”

He leans forward, pressing his lips to the bandage softly. The unexpectedly intimate action sends your heart into a momentary, confused flutter.

“I’m sorry, for dragging you into it. I know it was the right choice, but I’m still sorry.”

Alyn’s fury spikes.

He can’t stand it, seeing Leo holding your arm like that, seeing him kissing you. It’s like his heart is tearing in two, ripped apart and left to bleed, pouring out all the happiness in him. It’s suffocating.

“Hey, stop it, will you? There are other people here, you know.” He snaps, although it’s more growled out. Leo tightens his grip on your arm, resting his forehead against it while mimicking his twin’s glare.

“I’m not doing anything weird. Why’re you so worked up?” He retorts, tone sharp and almost hostile. “She’s not uncomfortable. What’s the problem?”

“Ask her that before you say it!” Alyn throws back. You pull your arm away now, thinking that Alyn’s really uncomfortable with seeing things like that.

“Both of you, just calm down. It’s not good for recovery to be stressed out and shouting.” You stand up, evading Leo’s hand trying to stop you, and hug your arms around your stomach, remaining in the space between their beds. “I’ll just stay here, instead. Or should I go? You must both be tired.”

Two sets of identical eyes go wide.

“No, stay, ___. Please.” Leo gushes out, words swift.

“It’s not your fault. Why the hell should you leave?” Alyn responds lowly. “He’s just pissing me off, as per usual.”

Leo rolls his eyes. “Kissing a wound is the most innocent thing you can do, Alyn.”

“That doesn’t mean you should just do it like that!” He counters, increasingly frustrated. His gaze snaps to you. “Come here for a sec, will ya? He’s being an idiot.”

You go to him without thinking, stopping next to his bed. He’s blushing like mad, you can see, but his eyes are smouldering with a fire you’ve never seen before. It’s completely foreign. He sends Leo a glare.

For all he would normally never do something like this in front of anyone at all, he feels compelled to push Leo. He wants to be cruel to him. He’s livid from him just doing that so casually, and now he wants to get back at him.

“Maybe start thinking about other people instead of yourself.” His gaze returns to you. “I want to say sorry as well, by kissing it. Can I?”

His skin is so red and warm. You’re almost concerned that he’ll overheat from blushing, and you’re pretty sure you’re blushing quite a bit yourself. Deciding that it’d be cruel to say no, you nod. “Y-Yes.”

_That’s how you do it properly, jackass._

He takes your arm in slighter rougher, less nimble fingers, bringing it forward. He leans toward you, letting his eyes close.

He presses his lips to your bandage. He can smell the scent of the disinfectant and the remains of blood, but also your scent, that vanilla spray you always use. He’s never really noticed it properly before, but now he does. He also notices how soft your skin is, and how warm you are, heat practically pouring from you.

_What is this?_

He removes his mouth, fingers lingering on your arm for a very brief moment.

_Why is my heart beating so fast?_

He turns his head away, trying to hide his embarrassment and confusion.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

“Drinks! I got us some tea, and a coffee for you, Leo!” Your mum’s voice breaks through the tense quiet and Alyn’s confusion. She slides through the curtain, holding a tray of drinks.

You turn to her, giving her a grateful smile, but your eyes are unsure. Leo’s jaw has been clenched tightly up until this point, a glare from his scarlet hues directed straight at Alyn, but now he wipes his expression clean, smiling pleasantly. You take Alyn’s drink and offer it to him, and he takes it with a muttered thank you.

_You’ve got to be kidding. It can’t be that. I swore never to do it; she’s my friend._

While you’re in conversation with Leo and your mum, he glances up at your back. His thoughts speak for him.

_But every time I look at her, all I can think is that I want her to be mine._

He stares down at his tea, lips pressed together. He wonders if he’ll be able to survive this. He takes a silent sip, closing his eyes.

**♡♔♡**

The twins spend the next few days in the hospital under observation. They barely speak to each other.

You visit them both every day, coming in with clothes and supplies from their dorms, along with things to keep them both occupied. Alyn watches you the whole time you’re there, hardly taking his eyes from you, studying your every mood, action, word and emotion.

It’s a gradual process.

He thinks about everything you’ve done for him, and even for Leo. He thinks about how he genuinely looks forward to seeing you every day. He thinks about how his heart aches just a little when you leave, and how he wants you to stay with him at all times. He pays attention to his mind, desiring to touch you and have you close. Every urge to hug you when you’re in reach, every bolt of excitement shooting down his spine when you pat his shoulder or playfully shove him, is documented. He remembers them all, picking apart the sensations he has when they happen.

It’s not a revelation, not at all.

He just knows, and is making sure that he’s certain before he swears it to himself.

But when you hug him, ready to go home on the third day, Leo’s curtain is already closed over and your mum is waiting at reception. He holds on just a bit tighter, burying his face in your collar bone. He expects you to ask him what he’s doing. You don’t.

You simply still for a second, contemplating. Then, you curl your arms around his head, smoothing a hand over his hair and resting you cheek against it. Warmth surges through him, heart fluttering with hope.

_Maybe I have a chance to make her mine._

You leave with a wave as always, promising to come back tomorrow. He nods, smiling just a bit.

Once he’s alone, his thoughts turn dark. He glares at the curtain separating himself and Leo.

_He loves her. I know that for a fact._

He’s studied Leo, as well, and knows his twin better than everyone, maybe other than you by this point. He sees the contentment in his expression when he hugs you, observes the peace settle in his body and eyes when he has you in his arms. He notices the loving looks he’s always giving you, eyes soft, smiling, gaze tender.

Alyn hates it. It infuriates him, because he knows he’s going to have to fight his brother again. His only family, of course, is the one person to love the same girl as him.

What’s more, they’ve both broken their promise to you and the group. They said this would never happen. They’ve failed you.

On that night, their last night there, Alyn lies back in bed. He stares up at the white ceiling, thoughts scattered.

“Alyn.” Leo’s voice murmurs though the curtain. A wave of molten anger rushes through the russet-haired boy.

“What?” He grumbles.

It’s quiet for a second. He hears Leo scoff quietly. “You love her.”

His stomach twists. He scowls. “You love her.”

Neither of them speak for a second. The hatred swirling between them is suffocating. Finally, Leo responds, voice very low and very grave. “It’s not just me. Sid and Giles do, too.”

Alyn freezes, expression stuck in absolute shock.

_They… they love her as well? It’s not just us?_

Alyn feels a lot of things, but the rage is the strongest thing he can comprehend. “Tell me you’re joking. Tell me right now that you’re being an asshole like always and that you’re just messing around.”

There’s a soft sigh. “Alyn, I wouldn’t fuck around with this. I’m serious. I’m telling you this because, if the ones who love her don’t work with each other, we’re going to have some big problems. We have to co-operate with each other on this. We made a promise to her, and even though we’ve broken it, we don’t need to tell her that.” His voice hardens. “You can’t tell her, Alyn. None of us are going to. If you do, it’ll ruin everything. She can’t find out. Act as you always have, or we’ll all lose her.”

Shock now wearing off, Alyn feels the devastation hit, the loss of a potential future with the girl he loves. He misses you already, he realises, because he’s thinking of you. But then, he always is now. He’s never not wondering where you are or what you’re doing. He’s forever hoping that you’re happy and safe, but the thought of one of the others  _making_  you happy sickens him.

They could be stealing you away from him, and yet he knows Leo’s right.

He can’t tell you. None of them can.

The biting sting of tears prickles in his eyes. He scowls even more, turning away from Leo’s curtain to face the wall. He yanks the blanket up and around him, chest clenching and aching, stomach twisting sickly. He’s only ever felt this way once before, and that was when his parents died. A few tears escape, and he swipes them away immediately.

_Stop crying. This time, I can change the future. I’m not weak anymore. I can fight for myself and for the person I love._

He exhales slowly, trying to settle himself and get some sleep. Life is going to be much more difficult from now on.

_I will not back down, to any of them. I’ll do everything to make her mine, and I’ll be damned if any of them try to stop me._

**♡♔♡**


	6. Part VI | Byron | Compassion - 19th April 2015 | 16 | Year 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.
> 
> They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.
> 
> “We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”
> 
> So, why did things change, and how?
> 
> Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.

**♡♔♡**

In the few minutes before and after Gerald is finally removed from Byron’s life, he experiences more emotion than he has all through his existence.

“Byron, turn away. That’s an order.”

Your voice is strong when you tell him to look away, ready to take on the burden of killing Gerald yourself. He feels a ghostly weight settle in his mind, like a distance call of guilt trying to work its way into his thoughts. When you nod, eyes calm and cool, stood steady and prepared with your pistol held against his father’s temple, he knows that he will be selfish.

He doesn’t want to end Gerald himself, because he can’t guarantee that he’ll be able to. His chest aches at the thought of it. Tyrant or not, this man is his father, and Nico’s, as well. He feels a surge of remorse at the thought of being the death of his own father.

But he wants him gone. The royals are right. He’s too dangerous and willing to go to extremes to be reasoned with at this point.

An almost maniacal laugh rips out of Gerald. Unamused, you force the gun’s muzzle against his temple harder, silencing him.

_It’s time._

His muscles tremble with nerves for the first time, but also with disgust and anger at himself. He shouldn’t be doing this to you. He should be shouldering this himself. He shouldn’t be allowing you to do this for his sake.

But he can’t bring himself to do it. He just can’t.

He turns his head away.

“Target acquired, Lucian.”

Your words come out clear and sure, certainty prevalent in your tone.

_She’s so strong. She’s learned such control, such power and dominance over herself and others. It’s almost, almost frightening._

“This is for the ____ family, and for my father, and all the other people you’ve killed. Goodbye.”

Not a second passes. The gunshot cracks through the room.

Immediately, a mix of feelings surge through Byron. Loss, for the first time, at the realisation that he now no longer has any parents. Sorrow, at the fact that Gerald was too far gone to save. Remorse, for all the things he did to people when he was alive, for all the suffering he caused. Guilt, for you having to hold the responsibility of his death in your hands, for the rest of your life.

He takes in a long, deep breath, then releases it quietly.

“Target eliminated, Lucian.”

It’s completely silent. Not a single word is breathed.

_Control it. It’s done with._

That is, until footsteps sound overhead.

All eyes whip up to the damaged catwalk. One of Gerald’s bodyguards, a cruel, cunning, sadistic one Byron recognises through the blood, stumbles out, an assault rifle held in his hands. His face contorts with rage, gaze honing in on you. Byron’s stomach lurches. The bodyguard lifts the rifle, aiming it directly, perfectly, at your head.

Byron lurches toward you. He doesn’t know why. Perhaps to try and push you out of the way, or block the bullet’s path, or create a distraction. Something. Anything.

Whatever he can in that moment, to save your life. Because it hits him so, so hard, in those few seconds, what it means to care for someone.

You’ve done so much for Albert, Byron and Nico. You’ve taught them what it is to experience friendship and why it’s so important to have people you can come to like. You’ve made them open up, have broken through a wall of distrust built on ingrained lessons from childhood, to make them see and understand that not everyone is evil. Not everyone has bad intentions. Some people are good, and kind, and caring, and loving, and all the things the three were never exposed to while they grew.

Byron has seen Nico laugh and smile more since they’ve known you than he has in his life, and has had the privilege of witnessing him being truly happy around you, secure and safe with the group, with people he’s come to care about as well. He’s even seen Albert expand and lower his guards, just enough to let you in, just a little bit, but that’s more than he’s ever been able to achieve. He didn’t think he’d ever experience normal emotions, having been told he lacks in them, but now he knows those people were wrong.

Looking at you now, thinking back on a lifetime in milliseconds, he comes to comprehend the fact that his emotions are in tact. He feels so much, it’s almost overwhelming. It almost hurts.

But somehow, despite the pain, he doesn’t mind. Until everything goes to hell, that is.

You dance back, graceful and lithe as a cat. Your own rifle snaps up, aiming for the bodyguard just as fast. At the same time, both you and he press your triggers. There’s a deafening crack, a single bullet escaping from each of your weapons.

Byron’s breath comes to a halt in his lungs. Agony, some foreign suffering he’s never known, burns right through into his heart. His mind cries out, screaming and yelling out in grief for the first time.

He watches you shriek, the sound sickening. Your knees give out. Dimitri is there in a fraction of a second, catching you before you fall, lowering you down to the floor. Blood splatters out from your chest, painting the concrete crimson. He hears the thud of the bodyguard’s body tumbling off the catwalk, hitting the ground hard.

He sprints over to you, heart pounding so hard he can’t breathe, slaughtered by emotional pain. He collapses to his knees beside you, watching you contort and cry out in agony, the bullet wound in your chest clear to see even with the dark armour. It hit the space near your heart, and even with the armour, it’s gone through. He doesn’t know how deep, but blood is pumping out from the entrance site, and your breaths are ragged, screams mangled with pain.

It’s unbearable to watch. He’s never felt so horrified in his life.

“___!” He calls out to you, hoping to be able to calm you down. A choked gasp escapes you, back arching up once more, even as Dimitri starts to put pressure on the wound. Your eyes roll back in your head.

Your body suddenly goes limp, twitching slightly, muscles spasming uncontrollably, but your eyelids are closed. Your head lolls to the side.

_No._

“___.” He says it again, trying to mask the frantic tone of his voice. He clutches your hand, feeling it to be unresponsive in his grip. “___!”

“Byron, move back. We need room to work. Stand away.” Dimitri orders, eyes blazing. There’s such sheer power, such authority and command, that Byron knows he is in no place to refuse. Biting back the urge to collect you in his arms and hold you, he forces himself to his feet, stepping away. More ICAC agents swarm around you, obscuring you from sight. He stands there, watching, stomach churning, while they shout to each other.

They all quieten down, for a few precious seconds, without any warning.

“Byron… where is he?”

Your voice, agonised and broken, sings out to him, like that of a fallen angel. His heart may as well be locked in a vice, crushed by emotion.

Dimitri whips around, motioning him over sharply. “Let her see you. Come here.”

He’s never needed to take orders in his life, but in this moment, he’s not opposed to it. He moves to you swiftly, kneeling again when the agents part to let him in. You stare up at him, gaze hazy and consumed by pain, but somehow, they show relief when you see him. “Byron. You’re safe.”

_She’s unbelievable. Why is she thinking of me, in a moment like this?_

Some unknown force drives his hand down, and he takes your left in both of his, gripping onto it with as little force as he can manage considering your fragility. His throat is thick, but he pushes through it and speaks. “Yes.”

Even through the pain, you manage a smile, eyes filling with tears. You laugh, even though the agony it causes is as clear as day. “I’m so happy. Thank God.”

“Backup’s here! Everyone move, let’s get her out and to the hospital!”

The order is barked out from behind Byron by an agent, who sprints down and into the room, followed by a group of people who are obviously medics. They sprint over, crowding around you once the other agents back off, Byron included. They’re swift in bringing a stretcher in, then padding the wound and applying pressure. Within minutes, they’re lifting you up and carrying you out of the basement. Dimitri ushers Byron through behind you, speaking in a breathless rush along the way.

“She needs you, Byron. I don’t care if she’s nothing to you. She saved you the burden of getting rid of Gerald; the least you can do is stay with her while she gets through this.” Byron is taken aback by the frank, and slightly rude, manner in which Dimitri speaks, but his words get through. Byron wasn’t planning on leaving. He wanted to stay by your side anyway, until he knows you’re stable, at the very least. He does owe you, a lot, for many different things.

“I never intended to leave her.” He responds lowly, all but sprinting after the agents carrying you. A long, large black vehicle waits outside, with a high roof and two doors at the back. Once Byron gets close, he sees that it’s an ambulance, but more modern than any he’s ever seen before. You’re lifted in and lain down on a gurney, where the medics get to work on you again, shouting and calling to one another, retrieving tools and equipment everywhere they go.

“Good.” Dimitri almost snaps. “Get in, then. We’re riding with her.”

_“Trust the ICAC. You’re to follow their every order.”_

Your words echo through his mind. He nods.

All through the ride to the hospital, Byron stares down at your face. You’re conscious, but you don’t seem to be processing everything happening around you, nor do you appear to be aware of who’s there. His heart is still hammering, what must be anxiety coiling and rolling inside him. Waves of guilt, remorse and grief are sweeping over him, battering away at his composure.

Swiftly, so much so that it’s shocking, the car swings into the emergency bay at the hospital. The sleek black car comes to a smooth stop outside the large entrance, where a group of nurses and doctors are already waiting, ready to respond to the emergency.

_“This is the ICAC. They always take care of each other. If you need help, they’ll get you it. If you’re hurt, they’ll heal you. If you’re in danger, they’ll protect you. Once you show them that you’re one of them, they’ll embrace you as family for as long as that loyalty lasts.”_

Your voice whispers in his head. He remembers you explaining the ICAC with admiration and love, pride and joy. He recalls thinking that you seem overly protective of it and that you praise it too much, but now he understands. You weren’t exaggerating. This is what they are, and it’s truly something to be so proud of.

As soon as they’re ready, you’re taken out of the ambulance and rolled into the emergency bay. The nurses swarm around you, familiarising themselves with your condition. Byron heads in with Dimitri, who guides him through, taking him into the reception. The civilians in there stare, baffled, at the two, dressed in ICAC gear, but Byron takes little notice.

“We need an ICAC intensive care room for an arrival. Gunshot wound to the chest, currently in critical condition.” Dimitri says calmly, but the fire in his eyes is still burning. The receptionist nods coolly, typing away at his computer. He doesn’t look remotely bothered by the sight of the two.

“Yes, Sir. She’ll be taken to room IC7. It’s ready now, so you can use it if you need to. I’m assuming you need to make yourselves a little less conspicuous?” He explains, eyes never moving from the screen. Dimitri nods.

“Yes.” He glances at Byron, then back at the receptionist. “Thank you. Let’s go.”

Without another word, he stalks off deeper into the hospital. Byron follows behind, albeit feeling uncomfortable having to just take orders blindly. Dimitri navigates through the corridors and up a flight of stairs, then into a silent, empty wing of the hospital, lined with doors right up to the end of the corridor.

“This isn’t how things normally go in a hospital. Welcome to the ICAC emergency service.” Dimitri grumbles, going to the door at the end, on the left, before pushing it open and stepping inside.

The room is spacious and white with black accents, the curtains the latter colour and closed. There are chairs set around the room, and then a single medical bed is in the centre against the back wall, machines ready and waiting around it. “You’ll stay here for now. We’ll need to do some paperwork now, as ridiculous as it is, and we’ll all be debriefed in here. It’s more efficient that way.”

Byron nods slowly, thoughts far away, centred on you and how you could be dying at the moment. You could be losing your life right now and he has no way to know. It’s suffocating. “Alright.”

Dimitri sighs heavily, starting to shrug off the armour he’s wearing. When he speaks again, his voice is strained and tired, but also livid and pained. “I knew she’d get hurt this time. I knew it. I had this feeling, all day, that this was going to go wrong. The higher-ups have pushed her so much and thrown so much at her, but she’s gotten through it without a scratch. Now, she’s been shot. It’s not fair. They shouldn’t have put her through this.”

_Pushed her? What does he mean?_

“You said the higher-ups have pushed her. What do you mean by that?” Byron questions. He follows Dimitri, taking off his own armour, muscles sighing in relief when they’re relieved of the extra weight.

Dimitri scoffs, now in a simple t-shirt, his trousers, and boots. He deposits his gear in a neat pile at his feet, then collapses into one of the chairs. His shaggy chocolate hair falls around his face sharply, contrasting his unnaturally pale skin and making his dark eyes stand out even more. He rubs his face, looking exhausted.

“They've been doing this for a long time. As soon as we all saw her, straight away, everyone knew she was skilled and talented beyond anything we’d seen before. Her instincts are unmatched, her mental strength is practically untouchable, and her emotional disposition is balanced exactly how a perfect soldier’s needs to be. The way her dad raised her made her the most lethal weapon the ICAC could ever have on their side.”

Byron shakes his head, dropping his head into his hand for a moment. He finishes removing his armour and sits down, albeit more gracefully than Dimitri. “I see.”

_So, she’s valuable to them. She’s capable of more than most._

“They started her out really young. Straight after her dad died, they were after her properly, recruiting her at his funeral. They already had her practically joined by this point, but her dad dying just sealed the deal. They’ve poured more effort into her than any other agent, and everyone in the ICAC – regardless of their position – knows of her now. She’s infamous for her abilities, and she’s desired by many in there.

“The higher-ups wanted to keep her focused, though, because with her skills, going off the rail could be disaster for a lot of people. They’ve thrown her into jobs way past the level she should be tackling at her age; when she was fourteen, they sent her on her first job, a big one, when most agents won’t do that until they’re sixteen. High profile things like this are barely touched by anyone under eighteen; the kids in the group tonight might have been lower level, but they’re older. She’s younger than them all, but she’s surpassed their level and was appointed as the leader even though she’s technically the least experienced person on the whole team, besides you.”

_That’s despicable. They’re abusing their power, by making her do such dangerous things. She should be kept safe by them, not endangered further._

Dimitri groans in aggravation. “But she never refuses. She wants to do it. She doesn’t care, as long as she can protect people. She’s not selfish enough to care about her own life to the point of turning down a job. Stubborn little one, she is.”

Byron’s chest aches again.

_This feeling is so strange. I want to see her. Knowing all of that, I understand her more now. I see that she isn’t just reckless or bloodthirsty. She’s been guided down this path for a long time and has reason for doing so._

He imagines someone coming in to tell him you’ve died on the table, and immediately, he feels sick.

_No._

He wants you close to him. He wants to take you away from this foolish ICAC nonsense, to remove you from harm’s way and prevent anything like this from happening again. He wants to see you safe, happy and smiling like always, and wants to have the opportunity to know you even more. He’s only had you close several times, and hasn’t thought much of it, but all he can think now is that he wants nothing more to embrace you and hold you close.

He’s desperate to have you with him, to cherish the beautiful girl he’s had so much trouble with understanding. He wants his strange little fighter with him again, no longer facing threats, no longer hurting, no longer suffering. He wants to give you everything you deserve; you’ve taken so much pain away from others and have fixed so many people, only for life to throw more and more obstacles and setbacks your way.

Be it attacks in school, which have happened many times recently, or things like this, or grief from the memory of your father’s death surfacing each year, you’re always hurting somehow.

And he hates it. He wants you to be happy.

And in this moment, that becomes very, very clear to him.

He sits back in his chair, mind heavy and spiralling into dark thoughts.

_And if I want to make her happy, I must remove the main source of pain from her life._

His throat thickens in an odd, unfamiliar way. He closes his eyes.

_I must leave, and take Albert and Nico with me. That way, she cannot be harmed by us anymore._

**♡♔♡**

Several hours of tense waiting pass. Byron lets Albert and Nico know that he’s alive.

And then, you’re finally brought in, and Byron’s already strained composure almost crumbles.

The doctors wheel you in on a gurney, your form mostly obscured from vision by their protective, cautious forms. Once you’re next to the medical bed, they very carefully lift you down and onto it, covering you up to your waist with the blanket. They potter around, murmuring lowly, setting up machines and a drip, for a short while. Then, they finally leave, advising Dimitri and Byron to remain very quiet if not silent to allow you to rest.

Once they’re gone, Byron approaches you. His expression collapses, exposing real vulnerability, something he’s only felt on a rare few occasions.

You’re in a hospital gown, and the bandages most likely covering your wound are hidden, but your condition is clear through the rest of your body. Your skin is bordering on bloodless, breathing slightly shallow and uneven, and a thin sheen of perspiration has formed on your forehead. Your fragile frame trembles every now and again, face moving slightly here and there, soft moans of pain escaping you.

Byron swallows thickly. The clenching sensation in his heart becomes physically painful.

_I did this to her. It was my father that made her like this._

Guilt surges through him, along with disgust and acceptance.

_I must leave her, so that she may never be harmed like this again._

“Time to call her mother.” Dimitri murmurs lowly, coming to stand beside Byron. He winces. “I hate this part.”

He calls her after saying this, and Byron soon hears her hysterical questioning from the other end. Knowing he needs to move now, he gathers his possessions, his gear having been taken away by the other agents after they completed paperwork in your room and went through debriefing. Dimitri raises an eyebrow, but Byron doesn’t bother with an acknowledgement.

Instead, he moves to your side, leaning down. He brushes his fingers over your cheek, then lets them drift through your hair for a moment. His body urges him to move, and he listens to it for once, entirely ignoring his mind’s objections. 

He presses his lips to your forehead ever so gently.

For a second, he’s confused; molten heat rolling from you seems to seep through your skin and into him, warming his entire body. Your soft scent, able to be smelled even through the hospital aroma, drifts up to him, enveloping him in an oddly familiar sense of security. His heart skips a few beats, and he wants nothing more than to take you in his arms and never let go.

But he cannot. He must leave.

He stands up straight, silencing the pleas of his emotions. He disregards Dimitri’s shocked look as he walks out, then makes his way through the corridors and outside. He almost feels numb by the time he gets to the front of the hospital, just as dawn is rising above the horizon, and gets into the private car waiting for him.

“To our dorms.”

He speaks shortly, emotionlessly. He’s so overwhelmed that all of his feelings are falling silent, having been stressed so much through the night that they’ve now lost their fire.

_I will leave with my brothers. It is all I can do to repay her for setting us free._

**♡♔♡**

Nothing can describe the devastation you feel when you wake up, surrounded by the boys, all concerned, but Nico, Albert and Byron aren’t there.

Message after message is sent to the three, from all of you. The Steiner trio see them, see the notifications racking up in mere hours.

Nico’s face is consumed with guilt where he sits in his chair, in the dorm room they share. The urge to answer the messages is clear on his face, eyes practically churning with emotional agony. Albert ignores them, face inexpressive, but there’s a tightness in his lips that isn’t usually there. He avoids looking near his phone when it lights up periodically, instead staring off and out of the window, eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

Byron’s phone is turned over. Its face is hidden.

Not so much different from his own.

His fingers are clasped together, elbows resting on the arms of his chair. His hands hide his mouth, concealing the tension in his jaw. His eyes remain closed, keeping his new emotions in, keeping them safe and tucked away where no one can see them.

He’s never felt so dreadful in his life. For one who has never felt guilt, to be swallowed by it like this is torturous. He doesn’t understand how a mere emotion can feel so awful, so physically revolting and disgraceful. He’s amazed at how difficult it is to take hold of the guilt and silence it, or even to just bring it under control.

He wonders how you are.

He wonders how much you hate him.

He wonders how much you regret taking his burden from him.

“Byron-” Nico all but chokes out, voice cracking and thick with what sounds like tears. Byron doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as look at his little brother. There’s a sharp, uneven breath, like Nico’s trying not to cry. “Can’t we just see her, or at least talk to her, just once-”

“Silence.” Albert snaps, voice unforgiving and lashing out at Nico’s will. He falls silent. Albert lets out an aggravated breath. “Stop being so emotional. We told you not to become attached. This is your fault, dimwit.”

_Fault?_

Byron’s eyes open, very, very slowly.

_Fault insinuates that there is blame to be had. Any blame here is on me, not Nico. I should never have allowed us to go this deep._

“Al, the blame lies with me. I should have prevented this.” His low murmur is almost inaudible, but with the still room and lack of sound, it’s heard clearly. Nico swallows thickly, while Albert scowls.

“It is absolutely not your fault! You warned us both and instructed that we all remain independent, but he didn’t listen! He was disobedient and selfish, and now he has dragged us with him into his misery-”

“Enough!” The word rips out of Byron, power and authority all but piercing into Albert’s fury like a knife. His face collapses with shock, voice falling silent once more. Real, burning anger rushes through Byron, and he fixes Albert with an intensely sharp gaze. “I will hear no more of this. I had the responsibility, and should have adhered to it. I failed, and as such we are in this position.”

_There’s only one thing to do._

The aching in Byron’s chest worsens. He tries to dismiss it, tries to tell himself it’s nothing and that it’s weakness. “We will return to Stein. Permanently.”

Nico protest comes out as a suffocated gasp, agony clear in his expression. Even Albert looks taken aback, something very close to pain shimmering in his eyes, making them waver as he stares up at Byron in shock.

“But we came here because of the threat we were under in Stein. The possibility of an attack from your father’s sympathisers will be increased now, more than ever.” Albert rattles out, trying to make sense of the situation. Byron knows he’s right, but he for once doesn’t care. He must keep you safe and let you heal, by removing them all from your life. He owes you that.

“I am aware. However, our residence here is compromised now. It will be much more hazardous to remain in Wysteria any longer.” He counters bluntly, tone empty and emotionless. His thoughts are not.

_Hazardous? Hazardous, yes, but simply to my mind. When I am around her, all rationality is lost. I cannot keep my control, and that is too big a risk to take. We must go, so that I may return to what I was._

Nico has been staring at Byron now for a long few seconds, gaze never moving once. His eyes meet his brother’s, and the message is clear; there will be no discussion. There is no escaping this.

The tears surface. Nico jerks up to his feet, making a beeline for his bedroom. He ghosts inside, closing the door.

Silence.

Byron closes his eyes again.

Barely audible, but absolutely devastated sobs. Cries of emotional pain, suffering and loss.

His gut twists. The guilt returns.

Albert sinks back into his chair now, face solemn. His fingers clench into fists stop the arms of his chair. “As you wish, Byron.”

The irony is like the bitter, coppery aftertaste of blood. It lingers, unwanted and unneeded, in the air, unspoken words shared between the two without so much as a single glance.

_You never had a choice, Albert. You’ve never, not once, had any other option. And that is because I truly am a monster._

**♡♔♡**

Your recovery from being shot is by far the most difficult thing you’ve ever gone through.

The pain, for the first few days, is severe. You suffered a fractured sternum from the bullet passing through your armour and into your chest, but it slowed before it broke through entirely, preventing it from skimming your heart. The constant aching in your chest, even with medication, is hard to tolerate, but you don’t complain. You don’t really care. A hole in your sternum is something you can bear.

Because all you care about right now is Byron, Nico and Albert.

None of the boys have heard of or seen them since the job, and you’re worried sick. You want to see them to make sure they’re okay and coping with losing their father. You just want Nico’s smile, Albert’s deadpan attitude, and Byron’s cool, calm aura of control.

The boys are in your bedroom a week after the job, you having been discharged quite quickly. You were lucky, only getting the wound you did, and probably saved yourself a brush with a much more serious injury had you not moved back. The boys have all elected to stay most of the time when they’re not in school, by their own free will, and barely leave your side through the day. Despite the circumstances, it’s nice; you all spend the time playing games, doing work and just talking. You’ve had the week off school to recover from the incident, and now it’s Thursday, with tomorrow being the last day of term.

They’re all in their academy uniforms, since the high school students and Prefects have to wear them, and you're all Prefects; only college students can wear their own clothes.

The uniforms the boys have on include a white button-up shirt with a black jacket over it, with white trims down the lapels. It has black trousers with no trims, and black boots. There are also a pair of black gloves, which go up to the wrists, that can be worn if one wants to.

The version you usually wear is similar to theirs, except that you choose to wear a skirt instead, black with trims, and a slightly different jacket; yours has the same colour and trims, but has a belt at the waist. You wear thigh-high black socks as well, but the same boots and gloves, along with the shirt and black tie with the school's crest on it.

They’ve all taken their blazers and shoes off by this point, though, and are simply wearing their trousers and white shirts with the tie.

“___,” Leo sighs out, flopping down on the bed next to you, on your right. He lies back, nudging his head against your hip where you’re sitting on top of the pillows. “There’s no point in you going back in tomorrow. It’s the last day of term, so there’ll be no real teaching going on, it’s a half day, and you’re still in considerable pain. Please just take the day off and relax, okay?”

You shake your head, eyes fixed on the TV on the wall, mounted opposite your bed. Your fingers and thumbs click and press at the controller in your hand; you’re playing a game with Alyn and Sid, and are currently in the lead with points. “No. I want to go in, just in case the others come in for the last day. I want to make sure they’re okay.”

Sid scoffs. “Why? They’ve disappeared off the face of the planet for the last week when you most need and want them around. We’ve all been in school; they haven’t been in at all.”

You frown, nudging a foot out from under your blanket to give him a light kick in the thigh. “Oi. It’s probably for their own protection; straight after Gerald’s knocked off the radar, it’ll be dangerous for them to be seen around. You know what Gerald’s people are like.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right. And they can’t afford to make one visit here just to make sure you’re alive.”

Alyn grunts, reclined back in one of the beanbags while he plays. “Plus, they could at least say something in the chat, or message one of us. It wouldn’t compromise their safety just to damn say hello.”

You can’t argue with that, but you shake your head again. “I’m going in. I can handle half a day.”

Leo sighs, moving to rest his head atop your lap, on top of the blanket. “I swear, Princess, you’ve got a death wish.”

Your lips twitch up. You can’t help it. “Not quite. I did jump out of the way of the bullet, you know.”

Six pairs of eyes snap to you, not amused or glaring openly. Sid lightly smacks you on the leg, and Giles speaks with a disapproving frown. “Please don’t make such morbid jokes, ___.”

You nod, smile disappearing. “I know. Sorry.” The door opens at this point, and Louis and Robert enter, carrying a tray each. There are some snacks and drinks on them for everyone, and you immediately realise that you’ve got tea. The two send you smiles that you return, and you pause the game, announcing, “Okay, let’s have a break. I smell tea.”

Robert chuckles, setting his tray down on your bedside table. He takes your usual cup and hands it to you, grinning lightly. “Your sense of smell is impeccable, ___.”

You grin back proudly, sipping at the tea. It’s lovely and warm, but also creamy as well, and you practically melt at the soft taste of it. “Oh my God. Tea is the biggest blessing ever to grace the planet. Thank you, you two.”

Louis nods mutely, while Robert hums, handing the others their drinks. “You need not thank us, ___. You very rarely allow us to make food and drink here, so we’re more than happy to do it.”

You shake your head once more, but you’re smiling. “Because you don’t need to make anything. I’m happy to do it. Still, I appreciate you all being here. Thank you.”

Leo grins up at you from your lap, nuzzling his face into your thigh through the blanket. Sid sends you a smirk, swiping a grape from the bowl on the bedside table. Louis sips at his tea, then sets it down before laying down, curling up against the side of your leg where the blanket is draped over it. Robert settles himself in the chair next to Giles’, next to your bed, and sends you a stunning smile before he drinks his own tea. Giles winks impishly, arms crossed where he sits. Alyn snorts, sitting cross-legged in front of your feet while he nibbles on an apple.

Leo opens his mouth to speak when your phone vibrates, a very familiar ringtone sounding through the speaker.

All eyes snap to the screen.

“Nico Mobile”

Your heart stutters in your chest, face collapsing with shock. He’s calling you.

You jerk up and swipe your phone, heartbeat now increasingly significantly. Your hands shake as you slide the bar across, pressing the phone against your ear, fingers gripping it hard. “Hello? Nico? Are you there?”

There’s a long, tense moment of silence. All eyes are on you, and yours are the cover, wide and desperate and hopeful. No reply comes for a few seconds. Your heart may as well have fallen through your chest. “Nico?”

“Princess-”

He chokes out the word. His voice is thick with tears. It sounds like he’s in pain.

_Oh my God, Nico… please don’t be hurt. Please be okay. Please be safe._

“Nico!” You gush out, voice heavy with relief. You sag forward, wincing when your chest aches, before you place a hand over your wound. “Where are you? Are you okay? Are Byron and Albert? Please tell me you’re safe.”

There’s a sniff on the other side, and a weak, quiet laugh from him. It’s so unlike him, you freeze in place, thoughts whirling. Maybe something did happen. Maybe he’s hurt. Maybe Byron or Albert are. Maybe they’re in danger.

_Maybe one of them is dying._

“God, Princess…” He whispers. The agony in his voice is unbearable. “We’re safe, I promise. We’re okay. Well, sort of okay…” He trails off. Your fingers clench around your shirt, stomach twisting with nerves. All of a sudden, there’s a very short, very small hitched breath from him, like he’s about to burst into tears. “I’m not okay.”

Just hearing those words, you experience a pain worse than anything you’ve felt from the bullet.

“Why? What’s wrong? What happened? Talk to me, Nico. I’m here.” You reassure him in a spit-fire rush, trying to get through to him as quickly as possible so you can stop him from hurting. He sucks in another shaky breath, sniffing again.

“Princess, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened. I didn’t know you would get hurt like this. I didn’t know we would put you in so much danger. I never meant for that to happen. I just… I just wanted to have friends. I’m sorry.” The words are like knives in your chest. What on earth is he talking about? Your injury?

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “Nico, none of this is your fault, any of you. I chose to go after Gerald, for my own reasons. This would have happened anyway; that’s not down to you. It never was.” You glance around the boys, seeing them watching you intently, trying to work out what he’s saying. “Why are you saying this, Nico? What’s brought this all on?”

More silence for another few seconds. “I shouldn’t be saying this.” He whispers once more, tone almost afraid now. “But I can’t not speak to you. I want to talk to you, ___. I’m sorry. We’re not allowed to contact any of you anymore.”

Your throat goes thick. Everything in your mind goes quiet for a long moment.

The reality of his words hits, and it hits hard.

Your eyes fill with your own tears, and you immediately start to interrogate him. “What do you mean, Nico? Why? Is it because it’s not safe for you?”

There’s a sorrowful, mirthless laugh. “No, Princess. It’s not that at all.” You hear him breathing deeply, like he’s trying to get himself under control. Your gut churns, telling you something bad’s coming. Your mind is in chaos, telling you to prepare yourself for the worst. You bite your lower lip hard, trying to blink the tears away. He finally clears his throat.

“We’re moving back to Stein. Permanently.”

A choked cry of protest catches in your throat. Your objections start immediately, logical mind screaming at the thought. “Nico, you can’t! It’s not safe in Stein; you were supposed to stay in Wysteria for at least a few months after Gerald was dealt with! Why on earth are you going back?”

The boys all click on at this, sharing identical expressions of shock, anger, confusion or devastation. Nico’s breath hitches again. “Byron said we have to. He said our safety is compromised here.” He sniffs, voice wavering and fluctuating with raw emotion. “I don’t want to go back. We’re not safe there, and I want to stay in the academy. I want to stay with you, and the others. I don’t want to go back to being isolated.”

He’s crying now. His words are howled like an injured, trapped animal. The sound of it breaks your heart, setting your tears free. They stream down your cheeks, and your words come out broken when you plead, “Please, let me talk to him, Nico. Or just tell me where you are. I’ll talk some sense into him, or I’ll do whatever I have to, to keep you here. He can’t just do this. It makes no sense.”

“Princess, I can’t! I’m not even supposed to be talking to you – I can’t disobey him even more. I couldn’t… couldn’t do that.” He’s sobbing properly now. You’re barely able to stifle your own with the back of your hand. “I just wanted- wanted to hear you, just one more time. We’re leaving tomorrow. I had to talk to you, just once more. I didn’t want to leave without hearing your voice again.”

“Tomorrow!” You exclaim, heart now thundering with panic.

Not caring about the fact that you’re only in leggings and a loose shirt, you throw yourself up and out of bed, practically flying over Louis and Leo. The boys yell and lurch toward you immediately, but you ignore them, grasping at your heart and darting out of your bedroom.

You have to go to Byron, Albert and Nico. You have to make them stay; Byron’s not thinking straight, and it could end up with them getting hurt or even killed if he goes through with this. “Like hell he’s taking you all back tomorrow! I’ll stop him myself!”

“___, stop! You can’t! You’re hurt – don’t-” Nico protests, now sounding alarmed, but you don’t listen as you throw yourself down the stairs. Your chest is tightening, aching and throbbing so much. You can barely breathe, still crying, head spinning from the sudden movement after a week of recovery. You sprint down the corridor, heading straight for the shoe rack by the front door. You hear your mum, in the living room, gasp, then bolt at you.

“___, what on earth are you doing? You can’t go out; you shouldn’t even be up right now!” She all but screams. You ignore her words, almost at the shoe rack, and pant to Nico,

“I’m going to be a hell of a lot more hurt if I let him do this to you, Nico. I’m on my way-”

You’re inches from grabbing your shoes when a hand clamps around your bicep.

You’re yanked back, slamming into a hard chest with enough force to knock the air out of you. Falling deeper into panic, not wanting to let them slip away from you, you fight and struggle against their grip, shoving at their chest. Your phone is taken from you by another hand, and immediately afterward, you’re spun around by whoever’s holding you. Your eyes fly up, hand swiping at the hand taking your phone.

“No, stop it! We need to stop them!” You shove your elbows back, and one connects hard with what feels like a rib. There’s a grunt of pain. Instantly, arms of steel clamp around your arms and chest, binding you against the body behind you. You start to kick instead, arm movement limited. “Let me go! They’re leaving tomorrow!”

“___, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself. Calm the hell down, right now.” Alyn’s voice snaps next to your ear. You just growl in response, jerking your shoulder into him.

This is what they do to you. The rational soldier crumbles when it comes to them. They reduce you to your worst state; a desperate, pathetic little girl who lashes out and runs head-first into danger as soon as those she loves are threatened.

Leo appears in your tear-blurred vision, stepping up close to you and cupping your face in his hands through your wriggling. “___, baby, listen to me. You’re going to injure yourself doing this, and that will make all of us, them included, hurt even more. Just calm down. Please, it’s okay.”

“Baby? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Alyn almost roars, the sound sending you into a more hysterical state. You’re openly sobbing now, eyes squeezed shut. You can hear Giles talking to Nico, speaking rapidly, urgently. Your body is going into meltdown; it’s spent a week in complete relaxation, and is now in complete chaos.

“Alyn, for once, will you just shut up? I’m trying to calm her down.” Leo snaps back at his twin. Your struggles are weakening now, energy draining swiftly, and your legs are starting to tremble. There are so many voices around you; Giles, talking to Nico on your phone. Sid and Robert, speaking in rushed, serious tones. Louis, murmuring to your mother behind Alyn, she responding in an almost angry mutter.

_Nico… I want to help you. I want to help Byron. I want to help Albert. I want to see them._

Your sobs intensify, chest aching even more as a result. A sharp pain sears through your wound, eliciting a quiet howl of agony from you.

_Don’t leave. I don’t want you all to be alone. I don’t want the group to fall apart._

Your head spins. It’s too much for your body to cope with.

_I need you._

Alyn is barely able to stop you from hitting the floor when your knees give out. Your name is the last thing you hear.

**♡♔♡**

When you wake up in the morning, the guys are all in your room. Apparently, after you passed out, they decided to stay over.

They’re all still asleep, you see. Giles is sleeping in an armchair with a blanket draped over him, Robert in the other one, Louis and Alyn are curled up in the beanbags with blankets over them, and Sid and Leo are lying on either side of you in bed, although on top of the covers.

They’ve all used the change of clothes you keep for them, in case situations like this happen; everyone has a change in your house, Byron, Nico and Albert’s dorm, Giles’ dorm, Sid’s house and Alyn and Leo’s dorm. With the lives you all lead, it’s more sensible, albeit maybe a bit of an overkill.

Pressing your lips together, you look at the time on your phone.

06:17

The guys will be waking up soon; just like you initially suspect, when you ease yourself up and peer at Leo, you see his phone next to his head on the pillow. He’s actually asleep, which is amazing; as far as you know, he’s never slept in the same room as any of the guys before. Putting it down to stress, you press the screen and bring up his alarm.

06:45

_Perfect. I’ll go now, then._

You have it all planned in seconds, and you’re moving before you can count to three.

You creep around the room, gathering your uniform, before you sneak out. Padding through the hallway, you go to the family bathroom and go in, body switching over into auto pilot. You have a very quick shower, towel-drying your hair until it’s only slightly damp, before getting dressed and slipping downstairs. No one remotely awake yet, you grab some fruit bars and a drink, then collect your bag, already full of completed work for your teachers.

Easing it on over coat, you finally unlock the door and go outside, wincing at the chilly wind. Locking it as quietly as you can, you then set off at a brisk pace down the path, wasting no time at all.

_I have to find them. I have to persuade them to stay._

You walk to school like you usually do, albeit without Sid, your usual companion for the journey. It’s silent, still and dark despite it being summer, and the air nips at your skin where your coat doesn’t cover it.

Thankfully, twenty minutes later, you come up on the grounds. Swiping your ID card at the gates, you head for the main buildings, planning on taking your work to your teachers now and getting your coat in your locker. You head to your classrooms, which are empty and still, and leave each envelope of work on the desks before putting your coat in your locker.

_Breathe. We can do this._

You nod to yourself, looking at your phone for the time.

07:10

They’ll be waking up now. You waste no time, heading straight for the dorm building.

Inside, it’s just as silent, although you can hear quiet conversation from the staff wing. Exhaling softly, you creep through the foyer, intending on going to the dorm room.

But there’s no need to, because as soon as you turn the corner to head toward the stairs, you’re met with the sight of Nico coming down the hallway in his uniform.

Your heart leaps in your chest, and you stumble to a stop. His head is lowered, so different to his usual, bright posture. It lifts when he hears you, though, and just like you, he freezes.

His eyes are red. He looks pale, tired and stressed. Your stomach twists.

“Nico…” You whisper. He looks half relieved, half mortified. His head whips behind him, eyes scanning the corridor. It’s empty. He returns his gaze to you, big eyes almost imploring. “Nico?”

He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he just bounds toward you, and without an ounce of hesitation, engulfs you in one of the tightest, most desperate hugs you’ve ever had. You have to gasp in a breath because of how tightly his arms are curled around your waist, but somehow, you don’t care. You simply lock your own around his neck, embracing him just as much. He’s trembling, seeming weak in your grip despite his muscle strength, and his breathing soon becomes uneven.

“It’s okay. I’ll make him understand, Nico. I’m not letting him do this. I’ll find out why.” You whisper, hand smoothing over his hair. He nods into your shoulder fiercely.

“Thank you, Princess. Thank you so much. I’m sorry.” You just hush him, shaking your head.

Minutes later, you’re halfway down the corridor to Byron’s wing, Nico by your side. Seconds later, Byron emerges from the end, Albert next to him, both in their uniforms.

The two halt, genuinely surprised. You keep pressing forward, feeling a mix of confusing emotions rush over you; devastating sorrow, at the thought of them leaving. Anger, at Byron’s willingness to abandon his own safety. Determination, to get them to stay. Nico lags behind you just a bit at the hateful glare Albert sends your way, but you calmly take his wrist, pulling him with you through the almost entirely empty wing’s corridor.

“Byron,” You start, voice oddly soft and gentle considering your messed-up emotions. He narrows his eye, the other obscured by his hair. You come to a gradual stop before him, staring up at him. “You’re going to be in danger by going home. The ICAC told you; you shouldn’t be returning to Stein for at least another two months.”

“Plans change.” Albert snaps. Despite the harshness of his voice, which would make most immediately shrink away or back off, you know he’s feeling a hell of a lot more than what he’s letting on. You can see the uncertainty he’s trying to hide, and the anger he’s suppressing. His fierce glare snaps to Nico. “You. You just can’t do as you’re told, can you, brat?”

“Albert.” Your own voice lashes out now, whipping out from you and striking at Albert’s composure like a knife. He falls silent, surprised by the muted anger radiating from you. “I came here of my own will. He didn’t do anything. He had no idea I was coming.”

Albert’s already-present scowl deepens. “He was instructed to remain silent about Byron’s decision, but he did not. He is disobedient and a nuisance.”

“He’s a seventeen year-old boy, Albert!” You hiss out, trying to keep your voice down in case anyone’s still sleeping, but your words come out sharp and blunt. “We missed his birthday a week ago, but we still know that much! It’s not a crime for him to want friends and a life. He wants normality, and he’s had that while he’s been here. Now, are you really going to just take that away from him? Are you really going to expect him to be able to just get up and go whenever other people tell him, even when it hurts him to?”

Albert bares his teeth, moving forward just slightly. “Yes, I do. He was told not to become close to anyone while we were here, so it is his own fault-”

“Don’t you dare.” You almost growl the words out. It’s almost like a threat. “Don’t you  _dare_  blame him for being human. There is nothing he can be blamed for. A human’s natural instinct is to gain a network of support to keep it safe and happy. Do not, even for a moment, dare to blame him for that.”

Byron has been watching this go on silently, stare never leaving your face.

Half of him wants to be angry with you. The other half wants to crush you in his arms and never let you go again.

He’s been so desperate to see you, that having you here now, when they’re about to leave, seems cruel. It’s ironic, but he deserves it, he deduces; he deserves it for not being careful enough and for letting a situation slip out of control because of his own weakness. He deserves it for being weak. He deserves it for letting himself submit to emotion. He deserves it for letting himself care about you.

For loving you.

The words are entirely foreign, but their meaning rings clearer to him than any of his thoughts in the past week. They’re so simple, but they make all the sense in the world. He’s struck silent for a long few seconds, as you and Albert toss retorts between yourselves and delve deeper into a more intense argument. He can’t think. The realisation of what he feels has almost removed his ability to process what’s going on, because it’s something he thought he was incapable of.

_So this is what it is to love. It’s to hurt, and to sacrifice, and to be selfish, and to break the rules and be weak and suffer, all for another being._

Byron has two ways of reacting to unexpected circumstances; with calm, or with chaos.

This time, the only time, it’s the latter.

“Why are you here?” He questions bluntly, so much so that it cuts you off mid-sentence and turns your head straight toward him. You frown, replying,

“I’m here to make you realise that going back to Stein is nothing but a mistake. You’re running head-first into danger, away from safety, and for what? There’s nothing to gain by it.” You explain tersely. He narrows his eye again.

_If only it were that simple. If only I didn’t feel so strongly for you._

“Our situation here is compromised now. Our relatives have contacted us and want us to go home so that they can attempt to claim what they think they are entitled to of Gerald’s Will. We can deal with the remaining resistance ourselves by going home and using our presence as fuel to the fire, so that the perpetrators can be coaxed out from where they hide and skulk in the dark. Tell me again that there is nothing to gain from it.”

His challenge is delivered cruelly, emotionlessly, but he doesn’t feel that way in the slightest. It’s actually hurting to say it. When he sees the pain in your eyes and the devastation in your expression, it’s like he’s causing the same damage to himself. He doesn’t let it show, though.

“But is it all worth it? Is it worth making Nico miserable? Is it worth endangering all of your lives even more and risking a higher chance of being hurt, or even killed?” Your voice cracks on the last word, but you push through, eyes gaining a very thin sheen of water. “Is it fair to do that to him? Because as the person who took Gerald out and was shot in the process to free Nico, as well as you two, from him, I sure as hell don’t think that’s fair, Byron.”

That hits him hard. The guilt he’s masterfully buried and dismissed rips itself out of him full-force, almost suffocating him from the inside.

_Why must these emotions grip me so much?_

The defences go up. He unleashes his pent-up frustration and anger, aiming it all at you.

“In that case, you’re a fool. You’re a slave to your emotions and cannot separate duty from selfish desires. We have things to do. We’ve wasted more than enough time playing these ridiculous roles and games. We were never here to entertain any of you or pretend to be a part of something that we didn’t intend to be a part of. Your assumptions lead you to this, and I, nor Albert, nor Nico, hold any responsibility for it.”

Silence falls around you all.

The betrayal, the pain and loneliness that consumes you, is unbearable. Every single word is another stab to you, another piercing in your heart and another knife in your mind. You never move your eyes from him.

Because, even though what he says hurts, even though it devastates you, you know he’s lying. You’ve learned to read his heart, and all you can see in it right now are lines and lines of lies coming straight from the mouth of Gerald Wagner.

“I’m a fool?” You can barely whisper. You shake your head very slowly, a tiny, tiny mirthless smile tugging at your lips. “The only fool I see here is you. A fool who can’t lie to save his life, and who is repeating the exact same things that I’ve only ever heard Gerald Wagner say.”

Real, harsh, sudden pain erupts in Byron’s chest. Your words silence his mind, leaving him momentarily shocked, stunned, and equally horrified.

Your heart is ready to shatter. The tears escape, trailing down your cheeks. The emotional stress is becoming too much for you, and the guys will probably put you under house arrest if you pass out because of your own recklessness again.

So, you ignore the tugging of an invisible force on your body and spin around, raising a hand to your mouth to stifle the sob working its way up your throat.

“Really, now. To think, you came all this way to complain to us about this, and then throw a tantrum when you are presented with the truth. How childish of you.”

Albert scoffs behind you. The cord holding your self-control together finally snaps.

You whirl around, storming up to him with tears pouring down your face. “You bastard. Look at your brother and say that again! Do it! Look at his face, see how much pain you’re making him suffer through, and then say it again. I  _dare_  you, Albert, do it! Because all I see in you is a big bark and a bite that doesn’t exist!”

Before you can reach Albert and most likely throttle him, Nico’s arms hook around your waist, preventing you from getting close enough to touch him. “___, please, just go home. You don’t have to do this for me. Look at me.”

He turns you toward him, then slides his hands around your face to cup your cheeks. He gazes at you with his own eyes shining, and his voice cracks when he murmurs, “You keep hurting yourself for us. Please, Princess, stop. Just stop and go home; don’t worry about me. Move on without us, okay? I want you to be happy. I don’t want to see these tears anymore, not as a last memory of you before we go.”

A choked cry escapes you, despite your efforts to stop it. You cling onto his arms, gasping out, “I can’t do that. If you’re not happy, I can’t be happy. I promised you all that I’d protect you. I’ve failed-”

He silences you, pressing his lips to your forehead in a strong, sweet, yet salted kiss. “___, sweetie, you’ve given me so much in so little time. I’ll never be able to thank you for the happiness you’ve given me.”

Byron watches very, very closely, as Nico whispers against your forehead and murmurs appreciation to you. Byron studies how he holds you so easily, how he’s so close to you and can kiss you without thinking, how he speaks so adoringly. He studies his brother’s eyes, and sees nothing but pure love. In that moment, he realises that, perhaps, he never even had the slightest chance to make you his.

Not because of class.

Not because of the danger.

But maybe because Nico might love you too.

_I have had enough._

Byron lurches forward, driven by some deep, dark instinct that he’s never felt before in his life. He reaches out to take Nico’s arm, grabbing him and pulling him away from you in a sharp tug. Nico’s look of utter shock as he stumbles toward Byron doesn’t even register.

He’s too enraged. Too tired. Too fed up. He just wants to go, so these emotions will end once and for all.

_But they won’t end. You love her. Your heart is hers, and it will be for as long as you live. Running won’t put any distance between you and your feelings._

“Byron, stop it! You’re hurting him!” You cry out, catching Nico’s other arm to pull him back to you.

Byron’s fury spikes, and he gives another jolting tug, forcing Nico to tip toward Albert. The latter curls his fingers into Nico’s jacket, dragging him back and away from you. You don’t stop, lunging after him in a last-ditch attempt to stop him from going. Byron catches your wrists and restrains you, feeling you shoving against him in an attempt to free yourself.

“Byron, look at yourself! You’re acting just like Gerald! Stop being him! Go back to being the Byron that we all know and care for, the one that wouldn’t manhandle his brother and friend and deliberately hurt them to get out of a bad situation!” You shout, jerking a hand up to try and break his hold.

The fury dissipates all of a sudden. Everything goes silent.

_Just like Gerald._

He sees your face properly for the first time that day. Your desperation is real. Your anger is real. Your sorrow is real. Nico’s loneliness is real. His love for you is real.

_And I’m throwing it all away because I’m becoming the monster she destroyed, for me._

His fingers go slack around your wrists just as the one moves upward. Before you even realise what’s happening, and that he’s let you go, your palm connects with his cheek.

The slap echoes through the hallway, unbearably loud and forceful. Albert gasps in horror, Nico’s breathing stops, and you freeze, hand withdrawn to your chest. Byron’s head has snapped to the side with the impact.

But, oddly, the pain blistering through his face and skull communicates to him that you’re right.

He’s not Gerald. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to drive the girl he loves to violence because he’s scaring her. He doesn’t want to fight you at all. He wants you to be happy, and Nico and Albert and even the others. He realises how much damage he’s done by trying to push you away.

No more.

You stumble back, now sobbing violently. “Oh my God… I’m so sorry, Byron. I didn’t mean to… oh God…” Mortified with yourself, you lower your eyes to the ground, backing away. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

Byron doesn’t even pay attention to the throbbing of his cheek from pain. All he can do is watch, soul torn in two, as the girl he loves runs far, far away from him.

**♡♔♡**

Your phone doesn’t stop vibrating all day. You ignore it.

After walking home in tears, you collapse into bed – your room now empty – and sob your heart out into your pillow. For hours, you wallow in your misery, in loss and betrayal and emotional pain. Your mum, having been woken in a panic by the boys when they couldn’t find you, came in as soon as she heard you run in crying. She’s tried to talk to you, to get you to eat something, without success. She did, however, get you out of your uniform and into some pyjamas. After that, she seemed to understand that you just want to be alone, and reluctantly left you to your sorrow.

By the time the night rolls around, after your mum warns the boys that you’re not going to talk and is proven right when they try, they’ve all gone home. You’re still curled up in bed, eyes dull and staring blankly through the glass wall of the other side of the room. You can feel dampness in your pillow from your tears, hear your irregular, jutted breaths entering and leaving your lungs.

The pain hasn’t gone away. It hasn’t even lessened, not in the slightest.

You can still feel the sensation of your hand colliding with Byron’s cheek, still see Nico and Albert’s shock, and your own horror. You can’t get it out of your head and it’s driving you insane. The guilt is consuming you, and you want nothing but to see them all again so you can apologise to them. You want to be able to hug them and tell them that you don’t want them to leave, that you care about them with all that you are.

Your phone vibrates again. At first, you ignore it.

But then, you hear a calm, solemn ringtone hum through the speakers. You’re upright in a split second, fumbling around in the near-darkness for the device on your nightstand. You swipe it from the top, turning it up to peer at the screen.

“Byron Mobile”

For a second, you can’t even think to answer. You swiftly shake yourself out of it, accepting the call and shoving the phone against your ear. There are so many emotions in your mind, there’s so much thought, that you can barely even speak. “H-Hello?”

Silence. You swallow thickly, heartbeat picking up just a little. Finally, his voice melts through the speaker, impossibly warm and unbelievably soft. “___.”

Your fingers tremble around the case. You grip the bed cover with your free ones. “Are you… are you back in Stein?”

You dread the answer you expect to hear.

“No.”

_What?_

“Look outside your southern wall.”

Despite everything he said earlier, despite his lies to try and hurt you and how he’s hurting Nico and Albert, your body flies up. You sway, head spinning again with the sudden onslaught of intense stress, but you merely use your nightstand to keep yourself up and fly toward the glass wall, the southern and eastern sides being entirely made of it. Coming to a halt in front of it, you squint down at the garden.

There he is. There, in the centre of the grass, stands Byron, his phone pressed to his ear. His coat flutters around him, almost looking like ink with the way it flows and dances around his legs. He stares up at you, expression cool and collected.

“If you are willing to let me apologise for what I’ve done, open your window. Please, allow me to atone for what I have done.”

_He said please… he’s never said that to me before._

You should tell him no. You should tell him to leave you alone for all the heartbreak he’s caused you. You almost want to shout at him for causing all this. Almost.

But more than all of that put together, you just want to fix what’s been broken.

Body shaking like a leaf, you reach out to the clasps and locks securing the glass wall to the side of the house. When they’re unlocked, you force it open, feeling your weak body straining to do such a simple task. Dizzy again, you blink, vision blurring.

You barely see Byron lower his phone, then back up just slightly, before he bolts toward the house. “Byron!”

He launches himself up the side of the panelling, manipulating the design of the outer walls to climb up the side with shocking nimbleness. He almost seems to fly up, just like the way Spinner takes off from the trees around college and soars through the air. You stumble back, vision tipping. In another second, he almost seems to blur up and through the open window, landing in a low crouch. He remains there for a brief moment, a short breath escaping him, before he stands up straight.

Your legs are ready to give out. You can hardly see him through your tears.

“Byron-” His name leaves your lips, choked and full of pain.

The guilt drives through him like a knife. He can’t bear it.

Wordlessly, he makes his way toward you. Your shaking worsens, body trembling harder with emotion and stress, as he nears, but you don’t move away. You never move your gaze from him, and he never takes his from you.

He doesn’t speak. He simply steps up before you, and then crushes you in his arms.

Your fingers curl into his coat, your phone now back on the night-stand. He feels your legs shaking badly, and can feel how weak you are against him. Your body sags, but he holds you tight, stopping you from collapsing. You bury your face in his chest and cling to him, grasping at his warm, strong form. His scent, his distantly familiar hold, the hand he places on the back of your head… it’s all you want. You want him to be here with you, want him to care and be human and stop being alone.

“___,” He murmurs ever so gently, voice rumbling through his chest and up from his throat. His lips move down to hover over your ear, and the sensation sends your heart stuttering away inside your chest.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for saying those things. I apologise, for lying and being cruel, for trying to push you away in an illogical attempt to protect you. I’m sorry for hurting you and the others, and Nico and Albert. I see what I’ve done now; you made me understand the consequences of things I did, and I’m grateful for that. Thank you, for showing me how to be considerate of others. I had never done it up until now, but you’ve given me an understanding of it that I don’t think I would have otherwise developed.”

You didn’t think it was possible for you to cry again, but here he is, proving you wrong.

You burst into tears, emotions spilling over. You beat your hands against his chest, starting to gasp out and exclaim everything you’ve had to keep to yourself all day. “Damn you, Byron! How could you do that to us? You can’t just leave like that! You can’t just put yourself in danger that way, especially when you don’t have an ounce of solid justification for it! I don’t care if you think it’s right because it’s not!”

“I know.” He responds gently, still hugging you against him around your miniature beating. You don’t let up one bit.

“Did you really think I was going to just leave it once you left? I would have gone to Stein, Byron! I would have chased you and run after you to make sure you were safe! We’re friends, Byron! Friends don’t just abandon each other when things get rough or dangerous! Stop trying to isolate yourself- stop… stop trying to be on your own…”

He catches your wrists, interrupting your hits. You pant away, sucking in air around stifled sobs. “I promised you I would never let that happen… you’re not on your own anymore…”

_No, I’m not. I understand that now. I understand that the girl I love, even if she doesn’t love me in return, will never leave me. And that’s all I can ask for, at least for now._

He brings your hands up to his lips, kissing them with a feather-light touch. “I know, Princess.” Releasing them, he cups your face tenderly, smoothing away your tears. “I promise you this, ___. I will never leave you again. I see the beauty in friendship now, in having others to support and care for oneself, and I don’t intend to throw such a thing away so carelessly.”

Your lips part in surprise. He smiles, almost angelically, even in the dim lighting. “We’re staying. I swear it; we plan on seeing much more of Wysteria.”

Relief floods through you, clear as day to see in your eyes. Seeing the tension drain out of you is unbelievably beautiful to him, because he can see the girl he loves fighting back getting stronger and more sure of herself by the second. You breathe in deeply, albeit shakily, and sniff before whispering, “Promise?”

His expression gives way to his softest one, all of his guards stripped away at long last. “I promise, on my very life.”

Your vision goes blurry, but not with tears.

_Thank God… I’m not going to lose them. They’re staying. I can relax, finally…_

Your strength leaves you. Your legs give out, and you suddenly lurch down, almost collapsing to the floor. Byron barely manages to catch you, saving your head from an impact with the floor, and is immediately sent into a muted panic.

“___, what is it? Are you hurt?” He interrogates, cradling you in his arms where he kneels on the floor. Your face falls against his shoulder, reply slurred and sluggish.

“I’m still recovering… it’s been hard to eat. I’ve fallen and passed out a few times. It’s okay.” He narrows his eyes, one obscured by his hair.

He slides his arm under your thighs, the other curling around your back, before he pushes himself to his feet and takes you over to the bed. You’re so warm and fragile, he feels like he’s going to break you if he’s not careful. As such, he takes care to handle you delicately as he sits on the bed sideward, ready to lie you down, and in the process putting you on his knee. “Wait.”

He pauses, glancing down at you. “What is it?”

You cling onto his coat, voice slightly shaky when you answer. “You’re going to go now. Can I just- just hug you for a bit longer? I… sorry. I-”

He doesn’t let you finish. He embraces you with all the love and adoration in him, arms around you, hands on your head and side, before he brushes his lips over your forehead. His skin tingles when it meets yours. “Don’t say sorry. From now on, I want to repay you for everything you’ve done for us. For me. I want you to ask when you want something; don’t hide your desires from me. You’ve always been there for me, and so now, I’d like to be there for you.”

Hearing the serious tone of voice he uses, you know he’s not going to budge from this. You find a smile curling at your lips.

You’ve unlocked his humanity. You’ve finally, finally turned on the switch in his mind to open him up to feelings, and you love it already. You love how honest and caring he’s being. You love how tender his touch is. You adore this side of Byron and you’ve only seen it for five minutes.

So, you nod. Your face buries itself in his shoulder, and you hug his neck as he does the same with your middle. “Thank you.”

Another kiss to your forehead. “Of course, Princess.”

**♡♔♡**

You fall asleep in his arms. He spends a long time, sat there with you, wondering if this is what heaven feels like.

But, when it’s nearly midnight, the door opens. Byron stiffens, head snapping up and grip on you tightening.

Your mother walks in calmly, taking in your unconscious form, cradled protectively by the Wagner heir. She doesn’t speak at first, and nor does Byron. She simply watches her daughter’s face for a long few seconds, crossing her arms. Her head tilts to the side.

“You’re in a hell of a lot of trouble, Byron.” She murmurs lowly. He nods, having already suspected this would happen.

“I’m fully aware of that and prepared to take actions to atone for the mistakes I’ve made. I hurt her, and I must pay for that. I’m entirely willing to, if you would allow me the chance.” He responds, just as collected and logical as always. Her gaze flickers to you briefly, deep and calculating, before it returns to him. She makes a sound of acknowledgement.

“Considering that she presumably fell asleep like this, I’m guessing you’ve sorted things out with her and she’s – for whatever reason – forgiven you.” Byron nods, unaffected by her subtle scorn. She grunts. “Right.”

She steps closer now, her voice dropping in volume but somehow becoming much harder and more ruthless. “I’ll give you a second chance because I trust her judgement with my life and soul, and don’t believe that you have bad intentions. However,”

She leans in close to Bryon, eyes deadly serious and tone threatening. “If you ever,  _ever_ , dare to even make my daughter come  _close_  to being upset, hurt, angry or uncomfortable again, I don’t care how high up you are; I will not be kind in what I do in response, and I will take her away from  _all of you_  for good. Am I completely and utterly understood?”

A chill rolls down his spine.

_My actions now reflect on the group. I have a duty to them, to make sure she’s not ripped away from them all. I will not fail her. I will not fail them._

He nods once more. “Yes. I understand entirely.”

She releases a soft breath, her own head rising up slightly. “Fine.”

He expects her to tell him to go home, perhaps. Maybe to put you down. Maybe to tuck you into bed. But she simply turns around, making her way to the door. He stares after her, expression unreadable, despite how confused he is. She pauses there, and he sees her purse her lips in the dim light coming in from the hallway.

“I want to make sure that you comprehend something before I go.” Her voice is very quiet now, but still retains that utter seriousness and absolute authority. He doesn’t dare speak. She meets his gaze. “Is she definitely asleep?”

He studies you for a moment, listening to and watching your breathing, feeling your limp form and observing your peaceful expression. If you aren’t asleep, you definitely appear to be. “I think so.”

She makes another sound of acknowledgement. “Good.” Her eyes harden, something dangerous lurking in her stare. “She’s changed you, a lot. I may not have known you for very long, but that much is easy to see. Something in my gut tells me that you wouldn’t be sat in any other girl’s bedroom, holding while she sleeps, after you’ve just backtracked on your own plans because of what she’s said to you. Am I correct?”

_How on earth does she see through me so easily? Are emotions really so simple for others to see and decipher?_

“Yes.” The word falls from his lips before he considers stopping it. He cannot lie now, not even if he’s uncomfortable with talking about such things. A smirk tugs at her lips.

“Yeah, I thought so.” Her mouth twists now with thought, crossed arms tightening just slightly. “And would I also be right in making the leaping assumption that, despite the boundaries she drew for this group, you’ve broken a certain rule that outlaws romantic feelings within it?”

_Damn it. She knows. I underestimated her abilities and observational capabilities. I didn’t think she paid this much attention to us, but evidently she has been. I wasn’t careful enough._

His heart twinges, and he feels a fleeting wave of discomfort wash over him.

_I’ve barely had time to understand these emotions, and now I have to admit them to her. If I lie, the group will suffer._

He exhales quietly, bracing himself for her reaction.

“Yes.”

For a long few heartbeats, she doesn’t react at all. She merely stares, calculating and analysing him, scrutinising him with an intensity that rivals Gerald’s. Her gaze repeatedly flickers to you, still and silent in his arms.

And then, she does something he doesn’t expect.

She releases a sudden, amused laugh, not even bothering to stifle it. Baffled by the response, he can only stare in surprise. She brings her hand up to her mouth, snickering into it for a long few moments. She’s still giggling when she finally speaks.

“I can't… oh my word. She… she actually…” The laughter increases substantially. “Oh dear. My poor little girl. What on earth’s even happening…” She exhales, managing to bring her laughter under control. She approaches Byron again now, slowly, shaking her head. “___, you’re far too wonderful a person for anyone to be immune to you. You’re just like her.”

_Her? Who is she talking about?_

Your mother perches next to Byron on the bed. She raises an eyebrow. “Put her in bed. I’ve got a few things to clear up with you, and the other boys. I don’t think they’ll appreciate the midnight call, but it’s too important to wait now.”

With that, she stands, all but striding out of the room. Byron can only sigh, doing as she says. He shifts around to lay you down in the bed, covering you over. You make a soft sound in your sleep, but you otherwise don’t react, going still instantly. He can’t suppress his smile.

He makes his way downstairs, where he finds your mother waiting in the living room. She taps away at her phone before lifting it to her ear, and a few seconds, she starts rattling out orders like a military commander.

“Hello, all of you. I knew you’d all be awake at this time because, let’s be honest, you’re teenagers, plus you’re all no doubt worried about ___. Don’t ask why I’ve only added you five to the call. I have something I need to speak to you all about - now - and it is most definitely very important. I’m completely and utterly serious about this and need you all here, preferably, so that I can sort out the chaos ensuing over ___. Does anyone have any issue with coming over to our house right now?”

There’s a mumble of sound from the phone. She nods absently, remaining silent. Finally, she smiles. “Good. Well then, I’ll see you all when you arrive.”

Hanging up, she turns to Byron. “Oh, one more thing.” He quirks an eyebrow, somewhat uneasy and almost irritated by the ambiguity of what’s going on. Her smile morphs into a smirk. “I want you to bring Nico here, right now. I don’t care how, but Albert cannot come here. Find a way to keep him at home.”

_Only Nico? But why? What’s the point?_

He doesn’t outwardly question her. He simply nods, producing his own phone from his pocket. “Understood.”

She sinks down into the plush, white chair she always sits in, sighing heavily. She gestures toward the couch lazily. “I’d suggest you sit down. It’s going to be a long night, I promise.”

**♡♔♡**


	7. Part VII | Intermission | Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.
> 
> They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.
> 
> “We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”
> 
> So, why did things change, and how?
> 
> Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.

**♡♔♡**

Over the next twenty-five minutes, Alyn, Leo, Giles, and Sid arrive at your house.

Upon seeing Byron, they all show clear anger, irritation or displeasure. While they’re waiting for Nico to get there, they sit in the living room, tension practically buzzing in the air. Sid finally breaks the silence, sending Byron a withering look.

“So, after all that, after everything that went down today, you’re still here?” He drawls out tersely. Byron, temple resting against his knuckles where he sits in the other white chair, levels him with an empty stare.

“Yes.” He responds, not caring to elaborate further. Sid scoffs, and Alyn scowls deeply, the latter muttering,

“Do you even know what you did to her, saying stuff like that? She can’t handle the group breaking up like that, especially not when she’s recovering from being shot. I’ve only seen her that desperate a few times, and that’s after knowing her for years.” Byron transfers his gaze to Alyn. He nods.

“I am fully aware of the problems and damage I caused. I intend to make amends for it.” He murmurs in return.

There’s a quiet knock on the front door. Your mother all but rolls up from her seat with unnatural grace, going to let him in without a single word being said. They hear the door unlocking, followed by, “Thank you for coming, Nico. Please.”

Seconds later, Nico enters the room hesitantly.

Byron’s chest tightens with guilt. The fear in Nico’s eyes is unmistakeable.

But, despite that, he goes to Byron nonetheless. And that almost hurts more than the fear itself.

When he stands next to Byron’s chair, the latter, murmurs his name very quietly. Nico leans down to listen, pale rose hair swaying around his face with the movement. His earring does the same, and the weight of Byron’s matching one seems to increase. Byron tilts his head up, uttering very quietly, “I’m sorry, Nico. I acted rashly and inappropriately over the past few weeks, more so today. That was wrong of me. I apologise.”

Nico swallows thickly, head moving up and down just slightly. “It’s okay.”

The barely whispered acceptance is almost impossible to hear, but Byron catches it. Relief swells inside him, and he sighs slightly. “We’re staying. Assuming you want to, we are remaining in Wysteria like we originally planned, to manage the situation remotely.”

Nico’s lips tremble just a little, a shaky breath rattling out of him. His head dips down further for a fleeting moment, and he swallows thickly, face obscured by his hair. When he finally rises up, there’s a thin sheen of water glazed over his amber hues. The elation in them is clear, even if it’s muted by the remains of pain and sadness. “Thank you.”

Byron manages a tiny, tiny smile.

_After all I’ve done to you, and yet you’ll still forgive me. Humans truly are fascinating creatures._

“So,” Your mother starts, coming in with a tray for making tea, coffee and juice. She pours herself some tea, gesturing toward it when she finishes. “Feel free to make yourselves drinks. If it wasn’t immediately obvious when I asked you to come here at midnight, this is serious, and I think you’re all going to be here for a while. Get comfy, kids.”

For a few minutes, Giles, Leo and Sid make tea for themselves, while Nico makes some for himself and Byron. Alyn pours himself some apple juice. Your mother sits back in her chair, looking more stressed, tense and tired than earlier. “This has all been very ominous and vague for a reason. I needed you all to be here together, and yes, before someone asks; there is a reason why Albert, Louis and Robert are not here.”

She sips her tea, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead. When she opens them again, there’s a glint in her eye, something very dark and almost threatening again. “Someone tell me the promise you all made to ___ and each other, and she made to all of you, when you were all decided to finalise this group and had everyone in it for the first time.”

Immediately, Alyn’s crossed arms tighten. Giles’ lips press together. Leo narrows his eyes. Sid frowns just enough for it to be noticeable.

Nico doesn’t react, instead glancing at Byron. Said Wagner tries to think of why she’s asking this, and why the four are reacting in such a way. The promise, of course, was to never submit to romantic feelings when it comes to members of the group. He says nothing.

Leo responds to the question after a moment, reciting quietly but perfectly, “‘We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.’”

Alyn scowls. “You seriously remember it word for word?”

Leo manages a miniature smirk. “Yep. Every single word.” He moves his gaze to your mother. “Why?”

Her lips curl up at the edges, but the amusement doesn’t reach her eyes in the slightest. “You tell me, boys. You tell me, and we’ll see if I’m right or not.”

The four on the couch stiffen just enough for Byron to notice.

_They can’t possibly feel for her as well. Have they really broken their promise, as I have mine? If that’s so, then those who aren’t here mustn’t feel that way, meaning…_

Byron’s gaze rises to Nico.

He’s staring at your mother, confusion clear in his eyes, but also conflict. His mouth moves, like he wants to speak, but can’t. He swallows again.

Your mother releases a soft breath. “I see. So, none of you have outright asked me again why I’m bringing this up, meaning you’re all aware – to some extent – of what I’m getting at.” Her eyes roll around them all, touching on every face while she speaks.

“At least two of you I know for certain have broken that promise. With at least three of you I’d be willing to bet my life on that you have also done this. Finally, with one of you, I’m quite certain that you are in the process of realising that you have broken that promise.”

Her fingers tap against her cup, and somehow, the action is intimidating to all of them, when paired with her deadly expression and tone of voice. “I’ll be blunt. I’m pretty certain that you all have romantic feelings for my daughter, and I am addressing that matter myself not because I’m nosy, paranoid or bored, but because she is nothing short of a miracle. Allow me to explain something that you may or may not have realised.”

She sits forward, glancing toward the hallway leading to the stairs. “___ is, first and foremost, almost identical to her father. She is gifted and talented in so many ways, even though she has little confidence in herself. She is hellbent on protecting those close to her and keeping those she loves safe. And when I say love, I mean the people in her life that she highly values, needs and wants around her. Apart from you six and the three not present, with then myself and Lucian, she does not care about anyone else.”

To gains several disapproving looks. She holds up a hand. “Wait. Care for ___, on a basic, expected, standard level, is helping others, being polite and providing support when needed. That is treatment she will give anyone because – like her father – she is giving and generous, and has that natural instinct to protect people.

“However, the care she gives all of you, myself and Lucian is entirely different. It is a deeper, much more serious, entirely absolute care. It is commitment to everything in that person’s life, from their happiness to their physiological needs to their personal stability.

“When she decides to let someone in, it’s because she feels even with her instincts, her mind, her heart and her soul, that said person is someone she wants to be a major part of their life. She selects very carefully who she’ll give that love to, because it’s precious and rare and something that can be abused or ignored. She will not, under any circumstance, donate all that effort, time and thought to people she doesn’t seriously care about.”

Hearing it said like that, the boys simultaneously realise that she’s right, and that they’re extremely lucky to be privileged with such a beautiful person in their lives. Your mother drinks some more tea, continuing on.

“So, I say all of that not only because I adore her personality with all my being, but because it then leads on to this.”

The next sentence is something that none of them expect.

“I say that, because that personality, that mindset and way of living, makes ___ no doubt the most dangerous person any of us will ever know.”

There’s a beat of mutually baffled silence.

Alyn scowls even more. “What?”

Giles frowns, crossing his arms. “I don’t think that’s quite correct.”

Leo shakes his head. “Neither do I. How can that be dangerous?”

Nico looks almost appalled. “She’s not dangerous.”

Sid doesn’t say anything for a long, long few seconds. He stares at your mother, and she stares back. There’s silent communication between them, almost prickling in the air around them. Finally, Sid scoffs, something very close to anger flitting across his face. She nods. “Exactly.”

Leo glances between them, apparently uncomfortable with not understanding what’s being said. “What is it? Why does it make her-”

All of a sudden, he cuts off, eyes going wide. It’s like the gears in his head can be heard clicking and shifting, finally moving into place. He goes very still for a second, before he very briefly glances at Byron and Nico. Your mother closes her eyes.

“Her personality is undeniably dangerous, because it is almost,  _almost_  impossible to resist. It draws people in so easily, captures them completely. It’s so, so hard not to care for her, so hard not to love her and want to protect her. As you’ve all seen, the times when people have gone after ___, other than in the case of Gerald Wagner, were almost always a product of jealousy. The people who attacked, slandered and stalked her did it because they wanted what she had.”

She sighs softly, but she’s smiling, somehow. “She’s addictive. That’s the hard truth; I’ve watched for years, and seen more and more people become consumed in her. People in school all of you have never even noticed have become infatuated with her. She doesn’t know it happens, of course; she has no idea of it in the slightest. She is who she is, and part of that charm is her absolute acceptance of herself. Her mental strength has been so carefully moulded and shaped over the years that it would be near impossible to convince her of something like that now. She wouldn’t be able to understand it.”

She heaves in a breath. “And now that I’ve made that ridiculously clear, here is my point. Correct me if I’m wrong, but beware that I’m really damn good at telling when you guys are lying.”

She starts with Alyn. “You are in love with her.” Then, Leo. “You are in love with her.” Giles. “You are in love with her.” Sid. “You are in love with her.”

Byron. “You are in love with her.” Finally, Nico. “You are beginning to realise that you are in love with her.”

She sits back, eyes challenging all of them, sat in states of shock around the room. “Go on, tell me I’m wrong. Try me, because I don’t think I’m wrong at all.”

Byron expects someone to speak, stuck in a state of complete amazement and simultaneous horror. No one does.

_All of them? All of them are in love with her?_

Your mother almost looks smug now. “Okay, so I was right. Surprise, boys; you’re in this together whether you like it or not.” She looks to Nico. “Nico, I know you must be confused; it’s plain on your face that you’re struggling to come to terms with what I’ve just said. All of you, don’t say a word. I want you to answer me honestly, Nico. Do you think that you are in love with ___?”

Nico’s already wide eyes expand further. He avoids all of their stares, dropping his gaze to the floor. Byron can see him trying to think, to decide and come up with an answer despite the intense pressure.

“I…” His shoulders tremble. His fists clench at his sides. “I… I think so.”

Byron’s heart aches in his chest.

_You too, Nico… to think, we’d end up sharing the same, very human pain, despite you having so much more humanity than I._

Your mother nods. “Thank you, Nico.” She rotates around the room again, addressing them all.

“Now that I know where you all stand with her, I’m going to make sure that none of you hurt her. Maybe this is infringing on her independence as a person and her privacy, but quite frankly, it’s something that has to be contained. If it isn’t, it’ll explode all of a sudden and come at her out of the blue, and that’s when she’ll go into meltdown, just like today.

“As much as she’s a soldier in the mind, when it comes to those she loves – meaning, all of you – she’s still a child. She struggles immensely to stay calm when it’s all of you, and acts entirely differently with all of you in general.”

Finished with her tea, she put her cup on the table, pinching a biscuit from the plate on the tray. “Why that is I don’t want to say right this second, because I want to set all of you straight first.” She takes a bite, thinking for a moment. “So, basically, all of you need to act as if you don’t have the feelings you do.”

That hits Byron hard.

_Ignore everything I’ve felt? Even though it’s such intense emotion, and even though I want nothing but to be close to her at all times?_

She eyes the four on the couch. “I suspect you four have already been doing that. You were all getting close at different points, but then you backed off. What changed? What’s happened so far?”

Giles answers this solemnly. “Sid was the first to realise what his feelings for her were. I shortly realised my own, and he confronted me after I had that rather severe episode of my illness. We agreed to remain reserved so as to not make ourselves suspicious, because we still wanted to honour the promise we made to her. Leo realised his own feelings subsequently, and we both confronted him. He agreed to do the same and act normal, and this went for Alyn as well, although he was much less co-operative.”

Alyn rolls his eyes. “What do you expect, when three people you thought wouldn’t possibly like the girl you like turn around and tell you they love her, then tell you that you’ve got to keep your distance?”

Your mother nods. “That makes sense.” She moves her attention to Byron and Nico. “Basically, I want you two to do the same. Keep your distance, in the respect of not doing anything that could indicate your feelings to her. Act natural and as you always have. Nothing has changed; no matter how much you want to act on your feelings, you must not. If she finds this out, she’ll realise the pain it’s causing you all, knowing that you have firstly broken your promise to her and secondly that you’re all desiring the same person.”

She huffs, shaking her head. “If it were two of you, I wouldn’t be as bad. However, because it’s six of you, the guilt she would feel would be absolutely immense. It would very likely cause her severe distress if she were to just become aware of this all of a sudden, and that’s why I don’t want anything to be said to her.”

None of them say anything. They can’t argue with that; she’s exactly right.

“She’s done a lot for you all.” The statement is gentle, but at the same time, it’s heavy. She closes her eyes. “I would hope that, for the sake of her happiness and health, you would all make this promise to me, right now, to protect her. I want you all to continue being her friends- well, I would say best friends. Be as close as you can without stepping over that line.”

It’s a simple request, but by God, it hurts.

Alyn heaves out a breath. “Already doing it. I promise.”

Leo nods tiredly. “Yeah. I’m already doing it too, but I promise.”

Giles follows, head drifting up and down. “I concur. I have already agreed, and promise to keep doing so.”

Sid lets out an aggravated sigh. “Yeah, same here. I came up with the damn idea. I promise.”

Nico is still staring at the floor, thumb now tucked between his teeth out of habit. He chews on it, mumbling, “I promise.”

All eyes turn to Byron.

To someone who has never had the emotions other people have, being requested to suppress those feelings is almost criminal. It seems fundamentally wrong and unfair. He wants to be honest with you and make you his, of course. He wants to look you in the eye and tell you that he loves you, to keep you away from the others so he can protect and love you himself. He’s wanted that this whole time, all these weeks he’s been hiding from the world.

But it wouldn’t be right. He couldn’t hurt you, not now, and not ever. It doesn’t matter how deep it cuts him; your happiness means more than his own by leaps and miles.

He meets your mother’s gaze. “I promise.”

Her shoulders relax just slightly, and she lets out a soft breath. “Thank you.”

Leo sits forward now, asking, “What did you mean, when you said that she acts differently with us and can’t stay calm with us? You said you know why.”

She pauses, gazing down at the table. Her lips tighten, and then she drops her head onto her knuckles, leaning on them heavily. “Indeed I did.”

She levels him with an intense look, arching an eyebrow. “Before I tell you, you have to swear to me – all of you – that you won’t speak of it around anyone but yourselves. You must not, at any cost, insinuate this to ___ or try to investigate it yourselves. I don’t know it for certain, but my suspicions have only grown as time has gone on, and my confidence in my belief is strong.”

Leo immediately nods. “I swear to keep it to myself. I won’t say a word.”

Alyn grunts. “Neither will I. I don’t think it can really be anything that big, all things considered.”

Giles makes a sound of agreement. “Nor do I. I will keep it entirely confidential.”

Sid snorts. “I wouldn’t tell anyone about any of this for anything. I ain’t gonna tell.”

Nico shakes his head, sitting on the floor in front of Byron’s chair. He was offered one before, but he refused. “I won’t say anything.”

Byron mimics the nod. “Nor will I.”

Your mother drags a hand across her face, groaning tiredly. When she speaks, the words are mumbled and muffled into her palm, but her eyes remain fixed on the hallway through her fingers. “Don’t all start jumping up and barking when I say this. I believe that ___ herself, even though she’s entirely oblivious to her own feelings, has started to fall for all of you.”

There’s a collection of exclamations and gasps.

_All of us? How is that even-_

“Yes, all of you. I’ve watched her behaviour carefully and been doing some of my own research on the possibility, because of how she acts all the time. She’s so devoted to you all, but she’s so comfortable with you as well. She opens up entirely and shows you guys everything. She’s always aching to help you lot, or be with you, if she doesn’t have anything else to prioritise. I’ve seen it all before. She’s exactly the same.”

Byron’s eye narrows. “The same as ‘Her’, correct?”

Your mother drops her eyes to the floor. “Yes.”

Giles looks between her and Byron, confused. “Who exactly would that be?”

Your mother sighs again, but sounds almost upset now when she does. She closes her eyes tightly, rubbing her temple with considerable force. “You guys know that ___ and I don’t have any family on the continent, and that our only relatives are across the world, right?”

The boys nod. She swallows hard. “That doesn’t mean that I’m on bad terms with my family, nor ___’s dad’s family. On her father’s side, the family moved out of Stein where they came from, after centuries of history there. The reasons were mostly political and very complex, but they needed freedom, and wanted to completely escape the country and continent that had made them unhappy for so long. That’s why we don’t see them. They always said that we were welcome to visit them, though.”

Her eyes remain closed. “As for my own family, there are very few of us left. We have extremely distant relatives – in terms of blood link – in the world, but they have no interest and probably no knowledge of our existence. My mother and father died when I was very young, and were unfortunately both the only child of their respective families. That leaves my only other living relative whom is still alive.”

Byron notices her hand trembling slightly, and wonders why. Almost immediately afterward, he finds out.

“That would be my cousin, who was forced to leave the country and eventually the continent, as a result of the fact that she is in a relationship with five people.”

All of the boys go deathly still and silent with shock.

_Five people? I’ve never heard of such numbers._

“Bullshit. No offence, but that just doesn’t happen.” Sid snaps. She smiles mirthlessly, eyes opening slowly.

“Trust me, it’s not. Look at ___. My cousin is exactly the same, although she’s also got one other girl in the relationship. They’ve got relationships within a bigger, more collective relationship, and they all love each other immensely. I’d swear down on my life when I say that their relationship is one of the truest, most honest ones I’ve ever seen. They adore each other.”

Alyn scowls. “How don’t they tear each other apart? Surely that can’t work.”

She shakes her head. “It can, and it does. They divide their time between themselves to make sure all of them receive enough attention from each other, and that they have enough time together as a collective. It’s a very fine balance, but because they’ve achieved it, they’re the happiest they can possibly be. I’ve seen it myself; I’d know if it were fake, and it’s nothing remotely close to it.”

Leo slumps back into the couch, almost seeming dazed by the thought. “Five people…”

She chuckles quietly. “It’s called polyamory. It’s not sleeping around or just having flings with people. It’s real, deep, long-term relationships based on love, trust and communication, and you’ll find that they’re more common than you think. We’re raised to be appalled by something like that by the society we live in here, but it’s not bad. She loves them all, and they love her, and some of them love others in the group. They want to be together, because they don’t want to lose anyone in the group, and are willing to be a part of that bigger unit in order to keep those they care about close to them.”

The boys all have to take a long, few seconds to process the idea.

Sharing a person. Sharing their love. Sharing their time. It almost seems like it objectifies them.

“Does it not make them feel objectified, to be divided by time and attention?” Byron questions. She shakes her head again.

“No. It’s simply doing what all of the monogamous relationships – you know, one plus one equals two – do, but on a bigger scale, in order to allow for the increased number of people involved. It’s making sure that everyone’s giving the love to those who they hold affection for.”

It’s a lot to take in and comprehend. Such a different idea from anything any of them have ever known, it’s thrown them for a loop.

Your mother heaves herself to her feet while they all try to come to terms with the idea, gathering the plates and cups onto the tray. She takes it into the kitchen before coming back, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, I’ve talked enough for the night. It’s two in the morning; if anyone wants to sleep over, feel free. I’m not going to say anything more about the whole polyamory thing for now, because it was more just something I wanted to point out. You know, for future reference.”

There’s that little smirk again. Byron tries to imagine it, all six of them trying to love you at once, all dividing your time to take little pieces of it each. He quickly shakes the thought away.

You mother stretches now, giving a little wave. “Right. I’m done here, now that I know there’s no danger of her being hurt. Do what you will, but if you’re all leaving, say now so I can lock the door.”

Byron can’t go. He can’t leave you, not again. He has promised himself to never abandon you again, to always be by your side.

“I will stay, if you would allow it.” He responds quietly. She hums.

“I’d expect nothing less, mister. You’ve got a lot of making-up to do, and wandering off again is not something that’s going to help the situation.” She glances around the room. “What about you guys?”

Leo rubs his face, looking shattered now. “I’ll stay. I want to make sure she’s okay, and it’s the holidays now, anyway. I brought stuff with me.”

Alyn sighs. “Same here. May as well.”

Giles follows with a nod. “If it’s definitely not too much trouble, I would like to stay and ensure that she is alright. I also brought things with me. I’m still concerned about how she collapsed yesterday.”

Sid echoes his words, heaving himself up. “Yep. I’m staying, and I’ve got my stuff. She may as well be under house arrest with all the self-destructive stuff she’s done lately.”

That earns a laugh from your mother. “True.” She turns to Nico. “What are you going to do, Nico?”

He hesitates for a moment, but Byron can see it plain on his face.

_He’s just like me._

“Stay, if you would like to.” Byron murmurs. After seeing the latter’s reassuring look, Nico’s head drifts up and down.

“I’ll stay, if it’s okay.” She gives him a thumbs up and a smile.

“Of course.” She gestures around the room lazily. “You guys know the drill. Turn the lights off, don’t leave loads of stuff plugged in, keep the noise down.” She gives them all a brief, warning look. “No one else knows. Keep everything to yourselves. Goodnight.”

She pads upstairs without a backward glance. Silence fills the room instantly, thick and choking and so intense that it’s oppressive. Byron can barely think. There’s been so much to take in, he can hardly process it all. He just wants to return to you and sleep.

He stands, feeling drawn to you, more and more every second. It’s like there’s a cord tethered to him, a collar wrapped around his throat, urging him to go to you. Being away from you is starting to become unbearable. Now that he knows he’s – in a sense – competing against five other people for your time, affection and perhaps even love, he doesn’t want to waste a second being away from you. He wants to be with you as much as humanly possible, so that maybe he’ll be blessed enough to be chosen by you one day.

He glances down at Nico. “I’m retiring for the night. I would hope it would have been apparent by now, but you may do as you wish.”

The pale-haired boy blinks in surprise, rising up as well. Byron places a hand on his shoulder gently, too desperate to see you and wanting too badly to mend what’s been broken to care about the other four. “I’ve kept you under my control for far too long with no justification. As of right now, you are entirely free. I will not force you to do anything anymore; consider this me giving you the independence you should have had for a long time.”

Nico’s eyes glaze over with tears again almost instantly, swirling with a mixture of joy, shock, disbelief and gratitude. His voice is choked and thick as he manages to croak out, a few tears running down his cheeks, “Thank you, Byron. Thank you so much. I’m so happy.” Laughing shakily, he swipes at his eyes, lips trembling. “I’ll stay by your side. I want to stay with ___, too, but I want to remain with you. Can I?”

A real, soft, gentle smile graces the Wagner heir’s lips. His head drifts up and down, words coming without hesitation, without even any thought. “Of course. You are my brother, and always will be.”

Nico’s tears escape at long last. He’s stuck between laughing with joy and sobbing his heart out, desperately covering his face to hide it.

Byron watches him for a moment, gaze kind, before he recalls that time when he found out about the plan to eliminate Gerald, when he lost his control for once and shoved you against a wall in anger.

He remembers afterward, how he hugged you like he’d seen others do as an act of comfort. You’d felt so small and fragile in his arms, so breakable and delicate. He remembers the warmth of your body, and how you hid your face in his chest, your ear so close to his heart. As he embraced you, as he stood there in the hallway, uncaring of the possibility of being seen, he wondered if you could hear his heart, pounding away in his chest. By that point, he still didn’t understand it. He still didn’t speak its language and didn’t know that it was telling him how he felt about you.

But he knows now. He’s started to learn the language that is love.

He very gently pulls Nico toward him, and, for the first time in what is easily ten years, hugs his little brother.

The others are staring, simultaneously awed and shocked to the core by his shift in demeanour. He doesn’t pay them any mind, simply wrapping his arms around Nico’s trembling frame. Said Meier’s hands come up, fingers curling into Byron’s coat and clinging on for dear life. He cries into Byron’s shoulder, the sound muffled by the material. The latter can only sigh very softly, stroking a hand over the pale, rose hair.

It’s this that truly shows the others how much Byron is changing. It makes it impossible to question his humanity.

Nothing is said for the rest of the night. As the boys go up to your room and get themselves dressed and ready for bed, pulling out beanbags and the sofa-bed and trying not to wake you up, none of them speak. There’s a mutual, silent agreement in the air tonight. There’s an unwritten rule hovering in the atmosphere, binding them all to act together and sacrifice for the sake of the girl they love.

Soon, they’re all settled. Alyn and Leo are curled up in the bean bags, having put two together each to make a bed for themselves each, while Giles is sitting in the armchair near the window. Sid, being bold and straight-forward as always, has taken it upon himself to settle down on your bed at the side, although he’s on top of the covers. Nico is already lying on the sofa-bed, waiting for Byron to join him. The latter has just finished getting ready and retrieves his phone from where he temporarily left it, on your bedside table.

He picks it up, feeling the cool, silicone cover against his fingers. He turns to his left, about to go to the sofa-bed.

“… By… Byr…”

It’s almost impossible to catch your very soft, very slow mumble of the first letters of his name. He freezes, head whipping around to you. The others have done the same, remaining absolutely still so that you’re less likely to notice them. Byron moves so that he’s blocking your vision of Alyn, Giles, Leo and Nico, while Sid is rigid and not even breathing behind you.

Byron’s heart twists. Why are you saying his name?

In the almost pitch-black room, he can barely make out the others, but he can feel the heat from at least a few of their stares without even seeing their expressions.

“Byron…” You whisper his name again, and his heart starts to ache in a strange, almost unbearable way. He swallows, wondering what’s wrong. “Where are… you… going?”

_She thinks I’m leaving her. She thinks I’ve broken my promise already._

Not even considering the action, he sits down next to you on the bed, peering through the dark. Your eyes are closed; you must be in a very light, very weak state of consciousness. He reaches out, protected by the shield of the dark, to cup your cheek and stroke it tenderly. When he responds, his voice is just as quiet, low and smooth and lulling like melted chocolate. “I’m not going anywhere, ___. I was finding my phone. I apologise; did I wake you?”

You breathe in deeply, hand rising up from the covers sluggishly. His body is practically set alight with warmth when your soft fingers drift over the top of his hand, still on your cheek, before curling around it and holding it there. You snuggle into it, almost nuzzling into his palm with your mouth. The sensation of your lips on his flesh immediately sends his mind into meltdown, thoughts taking a much more mature, much less appropriate direction. Your words are the only thing that restrain his desires.

“No,” The response is slow, murmured in a hazy, dream-kissed voice. “I could feel that… that you weren't… here… anymore. I thought you’d left.”

It’s like a punch in the chest. He winces, shaking his head slowly. “I promised you that I would never leave you. I don’t intend to break that promise, at any point, let alone the very night I make it. We’re here to stay.” His fingers tuck themselves under your hand, lifting it up. He brushes his mouth over your knuckles very delicately, placing a fleeting, feathery kiss against the top of your hand. “I swear it, on my own name and life. We will never abandon you.”

He can feel your smile through the dark, fingers squeezing his just enough for him to feel it. “Good. We need you three. It’s not the same when you’re not all with us.”

His insides flutter again, the desire to kiss you becoming stronger by the second. He finds a smile curling at his lips. He doesn’t have the urge in the slightest to stop it.

Knowing that it’s late and that you’ve had a rough day, his thumb tickles over your fingers, and he reaches out with his free hand to stroke your hair. The gesture starts out simple, with the intention of returning you to sleep, but it swiftly becomes more intimate. He finds himself allowing the books of his fingers to graze over your cheek, tracing down the side of your neck in the dark. He hears your soft breaths slow at the soothing ministrations, and the hand he still holds slackens marginally.

“Thank you.” He murmurs the response after a few seconds, heart warming at the thoughts your own spur on. “I will not leave, I assure you. Sleep. I will be here when you wake up.”

You must almost be asleep. When he speak, it’s slow, even softer than before and much more tender, mumbled in a semi-conscious haze. “You need to sleep as well.” He hears and feels you shuffling in the bed, moving backward slightly. His heart leaps into his throat, eyes flying to Sid. He barely makes out the latter very cautiously move away from you, retreating to the edge of the bed. Your fingers tug Byron’s lightly. “Lie down. It must be late.”

Lie down, in the same bed as you? He’s only ever done such a thing with Nico and Albert, and he grew up with them. It seems like a baffling, almost insane thought; is it really appropriate? He doesn’t particularly consider there to be anything significant about it, to be fair, since it would just be sleeping. However, there are five other people in the room who are in love with you. How will they react?

Then again, Sid’s already lying down behind you, despite you not realising. Plus, he knows you’ve had Leo and Alyn sleep over when they haven’t been able to sleep, and you’ve slept in Giles’ dorm to take care of him.

He supposes he can. He certainly doesn’t mind.

“Are you sure?” You make a sound of reassurance, pulling at him once more; you must be exhausted, considering how assertive you’re being. He doesn’t mind, though, instead smiling just slightly. He removes his shoes, then lays down on his side in front of you, being cautious of taking up too much room or invading your space. Your hand still in his, you sigh quietly, then shift about for a moment before going still.

“Goodnight.” You breathe out, barely even whispering the word. Immediately afterward, you go absolutely still, and within seconds, he feels and hears you falling straight into a deep sleep. He doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Goodnight, ___.” He returns the wish, momentarily forgetting the existence of the others. He leans forward, kissing your forehead and basking in your scent. “May your dreams be nothing but sweet.”

The others struggle to sleep, knowing Byron’s so close to you, but none of them say a word.

Not even in the morning, when you wake up, finding them all there with you.

Not even when you ask why they’re there before you’ve woken.

Not even when you suddenly stop, noticing the tension simmering between them.

No. No one so much as utters a single word. 

**♡♔♡**


	8. Part VIII | Nico | Liberty - 25th April 2015 | 16 | Year 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.
> 
> They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.
> 
> “We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”
> 
> So, why did things change, and how?
> 
> Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.

**♡♔♡**

A lot of things changed in Nico’s life when he met you.

Prior to it, he was, ultimately, alone.

He had his big brothers, of course, always there to keep him safe, but he never had anyone else. His mother died before he knew her. His father was a tyrant, a cruel man, and an abuser of power. He never had friends in school because he didn’t go to public school until the three drove Gerald out of Stein and into Protea.

Even then, he wasn’t allowed. He still remembers Byron’s absolute order, his immutable, irrefutable command, bearing down on Nico’s will and desire to be normal like the weight of the ocean.

_“You are to not become close to anyone while we are here. Doing so could compromise our safety and the plan regarding Gerald. You must stay absolutely independent and far from others. Do not, under any circumstances, make attachments.”_

He did as he was told, of course. Or, at least, for a little while. He smiled and was cheerful, bringing happiness to those around him as recompense for the fact that he could never be their friends and help them in any other way. He got by, keeping distance while maintaining his perfect façade of the cheeky, bubbly Nico Meier.

And then you came into his life. Everything changed.

That day, when he first went into Spanish and was seated next to you, his fate was sealed. He felt it instantly, a connection he’d never experienced before nor had any comprehension of. It was a gut-deep, instinctual, soul-centred knowledge that you were going to be someone he’d do anything for. As soon as he saw your strength, kindness, humanity, love and compassion, he knew he’d lost his heart to you.

But he didn’t think that it meant love, not romantic. He thought you’d just be his closest, first, and only real friend.

But when he saw you in the corridor on the day that Byron was planning on moving the three of them back to Stein, he was struck with such intense emotions. He felt so much, all at once, that he immediately knew something was off. He took you into his arms and held you tight, crying to you and embracing you, and he didn’t want to let go. He wanted nothing but to stay there forever and be able to hold you for eternity.

At the same time, his emotions were boiling over so much, his thoughts descended into madness as well. He stopped you from reaching Albert because he was fully aware that you could probably deal considerable damage to him if he didn’t, and that you’d regret it afterward.

As a result, he stood there and held your face, crying to you while you cried to him, and he was made aware of desires he’d never had before. He wanted to pull you against him, right in front of Albert and Byron, and kiss you to Heaven and back. He wanted to pour his heart out and tell you how much he needs you, how much you’ve changed him and made his life worth living. He wanted to be honest, with you and himself, and say that you’re the most important thing in the world to him, on par with his brothers. Perhaps, even more important.

He didn’t think that they’d end up staying. When Byron called him at midnight and told him to come to your house alone, he was entirely, thoroughly baffled, concerned and apprehensive.

Of course, when he got there and found out that not only Byron, but Alyn, Giles, Leo and Sid were all in love with you, his head may as well have turned to mush.

He could barely think at the time. One to wear his heart on his sleeve while also very much not, he couldn’t formulate a lie in response to your mother’s question. Asked if he was in love with you, all of this ran through his head in one swift, sudden rush, and his heart was aching by the time he was able to choke out the words.

_“I… I… I think so.”_

The guilt hit first. Then confusion. Amazement. Worry. Fear. Conflict. Uncertainty. Joy.

So many emotions. But all he could think about after that, all he thought about during the night, only four hours of which he managed to sleep through, was the fact that he’d broken his promise. He was a part of that oath to the group. He’d become a hypocrite because he’d done the thing that the whole group was founded upon, and was created to honour and respect. He’d never felt such consuming responsibility and self-loathing prior to that night.

He isn’t alone in this crime, of course. He is not the only sinner. That, however, matters little.

Despite all of that, true to his word and himself, now… now he does what he does best. He lies, covers up and fakes a smile, suppressing his newly-found feelings.

When you first wake up in the morning after the kick-off, the boys are up; it’s almost twelve when you come around. Upon spotting Byron and Nico on the couch, with Albert stood at the window, you practically start to glow. Your beautiful, beaming smile comes back full-force, the life you’ve lacked for nearly two weeks finally transforming from a dull ember to a flaming, roaring blaze. It’s so bright and something Nico loves so much, the fake smile becomes real, flickering into its true form.

“You’re here!” You gasp out, bouncing up and out of bed despite Sid and Leo swiping at you to keep you down.

Nico’s limbs move of their own accord, causing him to roll to his feet and bound toward you. His arms open, and you leap into them without hesitation. His mind, heart and soul settle, while his body goes wild, as soon as he has you close to him. He laughs breathlessly, winded by a sudden surge of emotion, before he spins you around. You join him in laughing, clinging onto his neck. He could collapse with the joy he feels at hearing the sound at long last.

He comes to a gradual halt, but doesn’t pull back. He remains there, hugging you against him. The others blurring away, he drops his head against your shoulder, feeling your soft skin and smelling your sweet scent. He feels your fingers combing through his hair, ever so gentle and tender. They occasionally tickle over his nape, and he fails to stifle his shivers in response. A soft, quiet hum purrs out from him, arms tightening around your waist.

Unfortunately, the glares and heated looks of the others soon become just a little too intense to ignore. He lets go with a soft sigh, but not before whispering, “Thank you, Princess. Thank you so much. I’ll never be able to thank you enough or repay you for saving us.”

Your eyes take on a loving, kind shine, and you simply smile, graceful and angelic and just what he needs at a time like this. You give his hand a brief squeeze. “You’re welcome, Nico. You owe me nothing. It was for me as well.”

It’s at this point that you turn to Byron. He gives a very subtle smile of his own, pushing to his feet. You don’t hesitate in attaching yourself to him, arms throwing themselves around his middle. He stills momentarily, looking very slightly surprised, before the smile comes back and he chuckles quietly. He returns the embrace, hands cradling your head and side with the utmost care.

The sight makes Nico’s heart ache. He would have hoped it would be from happiness, if last night hadn’t have happened, but now he suspects it’s something different. Something much more complex. Something impure. And, definitely, something forbidden.

He’s jealous. He understands it right away. He doesn’t like seeing you in the others’ arms.

When you pull back from Byron, Albert has already turned around to face you, but his eyes are diverted to the wall and he’s fiddling with his glasses. He’s nervous, despite his attempts to seem calm and in control. Nico knows him too well; he can see through his walls and guards, and can tell that he feels guilt over everything that happened. As much as he probably believes that his approach to it all was still appropriate and right, Nico’s quite sure that he feels bad for the upset they’ve all caused, and the harm you’ve suffered to get them out of their predicament.

However, you don’t seem at all angry or upset, despite how you were ready to tear his head off the day before. Your kind, soft smile stays where it is as you move your gaze to the taller male, instead stretching into a small grin. “Truce, Albert?”

Another nudge of his glasses. Nico stifles a little smile of his own.

_He gets so flustered around her. It’s so obvious._

He laughs internally.

_Then again, I guess I do too._

Albert clears his throat, fingers drifting down to instead fiddle with the collar of his jacket. His eyes skip to yours, bounce away, then skitter back again. “Truce.”

Nico sees Albert’s free hand move, and sees his body shift just slightly, as if he’s about to step toward you. Your own fingers move slightly. But then, Albert seems to recall that he’s not alone and goes still again. Your fingers clench around themselves.

_He’s so shy, and she’s too considerate. That’s good; it’s one less person to worry about stealing her._

Alas, his thoughts aren’t meant to be.

Leo grins, staring at Albert from your bed. “C’mon, Albert. Thaw out a little and give her a hug. She deserves that much.”

The brunette scowls deeply, eyes popping with shock and cheeks flushing with blood. “Wha-” A glare forms on his face swiftly. “That’s hardly appropriate, and unnecessary as well. That’s assuming that she would even want one, which she might not. I hope you realise that it’s highly unprofessional to-”

Leo and Sid share a look with Nico. He catches on immediately, having the same mischievous mindset as his two taller companions. He grins cheekily, hands coming to settle on your shoulders. The other two slide off your bed, bounding across the room to Albert. You glance up at Nico, confused, but he just winks.

Albert backs up in response to the two coming close, but they slip behind him. Before he can spin around, they both give him a hard shove toward you, and at the same time, Nico forces back his rising regret. He swallows back the urge to keep you to himself, lightly pushing you toward Albert as well.

You fall into him, stumbling for a moment before righting yourself, while he almost tips forward. You catch his shoulders to keep him from falling, and he ends up holding onto your hips to correct his balance. Leo skips around to be behind you, giving another nudge, so that you end up with your face in Albert’s chest.

Albert lets out a choked shout of surprise, but Byron chuckles once more, teasing, “Al, Leo is correct. We were rather cruel yesterday.”

Albert’s cheeks are burning, and so are yours. He diverts his eyes to the floor. “But- she hasn’t even said-”

“I don’t mind, Albert.” Your words are muffled by his jacket, but he hears them loud and clear. His eyes snap to your face, still buried in his chest. “I know you’re not comfortable with it; you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

For a second, Nico watches conflict cross Albert’s expression. He swiftly finds his heart aching again, teeth sinking into his lower lip to bite back a scream.

_There’s love there. It’s easy to see now. He doesn’t understand it, just like I didn’t, but there’s something there._

Albert swallows thickly, still frowning. However, his right hand rises up to your head, settling on the back of it very lightly. The other hand, on your hip, shifts to curl around your side. He hugs you very carefully and gently, motionless for a second, before he closes his eyes and allows his head to tip down. His mouth hovers very lightly over the crown of your head, and his fingers start to sift through your locks absently.

Another sharp pain sears through Nico’s chest.

_I wish that was me. I wish I hadn’t helped. Now I have to compete with Al, too._

“See?” Leo claps a hand on Albert’s shoulder, chirping, “Not so bad, is it?”

Albert’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t release you as he mutters, “No comment. One should acquire consent to do something like this, though, Crawford. You should remember that.”

Leo rolls his eyes. “Every time I want to hug her?” He hums out. His head tilts to the side, and then he shakes it, smirking widely. “Nah.”

Without warning, he slides his arm around your middle, tugging you backward sharply. You’re pulled out of Albert’s hold and into Leo’s, where he turns you around and hugs you tightly. He does the same as Albert, arms around your waist and up your back with a hand against your head, but he’s much more intimate about it.

Nico watches, envious and jealous and quickly losing control. Leo’s fingers rest on your hipbone, those of his other hand threading through your hair and massaging your scalp. He nuzzles he face into yours, eyes closed and lips curled into a smile against your cheek. Nico can see you blushing violently, but you don’t protest, hands instead placing themselves on Leo’s chest lightly.

He smirks now, scarlet hues meeting those of Nico, Byron, Giles, Alyn and Sid smugly. “She doesn’t mind. I give the best hugs. Right, Princess?”

He tightens his arm around your middle, moving your body flush against his.

Something in Nico snaps. Apparently, he’s not alone.

“Leo.” Giles murmurs, tone threatening. “I would advise you to watch yourself, especially considering that Albert was very much right in pointing out how you presume she is comfortable with your spontaneity.”

Alyn scoffs. “And you’re not exactly being careful. She’s got a damn hole in her sternum; do us all a favour and think about someone other than yourself, will you?”

You’ve been silent up until this point, but now you speak, planting your hands on Leo’s shoulders to put some distance between your faces. “I don’t mind random hugs like that, but obviously some of us do mind, so you need to be aware of that, Leo.”

Immediately, he releases you, raising his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. But you know I’m always happy to give my hugs to you, Princess.” He sends you a wink, hands moving to his pockets.

You shake your head, but there’s a smile playing on your lips that you just can’t hide.

And it’s that little smile that shatters Nico’s heart into pieces. The fake smile of his own returns once more.

**♡♔♡**

In the days after the “kick-off”, as named by Sid, the group spends all its time together at your house to solidify itself once more, and to mend all that has been broken. It being the holidays, you all have the time to just relax and let things settle. Even Albert and Byron agree that this is needed, although the former still seems agitated and displeased about the outcome of the whole thing.

Nico barely leaves your house. While the others return home and sleep there as usual, Nico accepts your mother’s offer for him to stay. Her knowing look communicates a lot, though, along with the words she whispers to him as she wanders past him in the hallway.

“Act natural, remember. Use this time to verify what you feel and learn to understand it, but do not act on it. I’m trusting you, Nico.”

Nico nods, expression completely serious for once. “Of course. I swear, I won’t do anything. I would never.”

That’s met with a simple smile, and then she’s gone. Nico sighs to himself, bouncing up the stairs and around the landing to your room.

The others have all gone home for the night, so he’s the only one staying. He’s just retrieved some painkillers for you from downstairs, since your chest and head have started to hurt considerably, after you had a coughing fit maybe an hour ago. He swings himself into your room, a glass of water in his other hand.

You’re in bed, as you were before, but you seem worse now. You’re breathing shallowly, expression contorted in pain and discomfort, and seem to be much hotter than before. You’ve thrown your covers off, curled in on yourself in your vest and shorts. The sight of your bare skin instantly brings some inappropriate thoughts and feelings to him, but he swallows them back, reminding himself of his promise.

_Act natural. No indication that anything’s different._

He nudges the door closed behind him, then breezes over to your side, setting the tablets and water down on the bedside table. Then, he perches next to you on the bed, asking, “Princess? I’ve got tablets for you. Can you take them for me?”

You let out a breathy little groan, eyes squeezing themselves shut. He observes your head shift just slightly, in a barely-there nod, and internally sighs with relief. “Good.” You make no move to get up, and he tilts his head, brushing the back of his fingers across your cheek. “___, you might want to sit up to take them.”

Another groan. Your mouth barely moves, making your speech mumbled and soft, when you whisper, “It hurts so much, Nico. The room’s spinning. My head… it hurts.”

Something in him recoils at the pain in your voice. He swallows thickly, wanting nothing more than to be able to take it away. “If you can take the tablets, it might get better.” Thinking that it’s probably not exactly a wise choice, but a necessary one, he leans over you, a hand planting itself on the pillow next to your face. The other settles atop your hair, stroking soothingly. “I can help you sit up; you won’t even have to move. Please, Princess?”

_She can’t say no when I ask like that. It’s mean, but I need to do it. Otherwise, she’ll keep hurting._

You heave in a shallow, jagged breath, the hand on your chest gripping your vest tightly. It looks like the blood’s all but drained from your knuckles. “Okay.”

Another rush of relief. He sighs just slightly, reaching over to pop a tablet out of the strip. He then glances back at you, contemplating the best way to do this. You’re so weak, he can tell by just looking at you that this isn’t just the coughing fit’s work. You’re ill, and he needs to have you checked by a doctor before it gets too much of a hold on you.

_Just do what anyone else would do. Nothing inappropriate. It’s entirely innocent._

His arm slides under your upper back, the attached hand cupping the back of your head, while the other arm curls around your lower back. The tablet clenched in his fist, he lifts you up to him, raising you up and off the mattress. Your eyelids flutter open just slightly, but the hues they’ve been hiding are distant, unfocused and hazy. They remain on his shoulder as he pulls you against him, your hand coming up to weakly hold onto his upper arm.

“Nico…” You mumble, looking ready to pass out at any second. “What’s wrong with me? Why am I sick? I thought I was getting better.”

A twinge of worry twists in his stomach, but he forces a smile onto his face, shaking his head. “You’re just tired, Princess. It’s been a hectic few weeks, and you’re just run down.”

Feeling the need to comfort you, and wanting to do it in his way, he shifts you around to be sideward on, leaning against his chest. One arm is curled around your upper back, supporting it, while the other arm rises up, the attached hand bracing your head against his shoulder. He leans down, resting his forehead against yours.

You’re so warm. It’s the first thing he notices, and the thing that terrifies him the most. Your eyes fall shut, and he gazes down at you, letting his concern show now that you can’t see it. His fingers massage your cheek soothingly, rubbing over the skin in calming, repetitive motions.

“You’ll be okay.” He whispers the words ever so quietly, barely breathing them to you. He’s almost certain that he needs them just as much as you do. “You’ll be fine. You’re our Princess. We’ll never let anyone hurt you, and we’ll always be by your side.”

His fingers drift down to your mouth, eyes following. He momentarily forgets the tablet in his palm, instead focusing entirely on your lips, slightly pinker than usual with the increased blood flow.

_I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her so much, and hug her even tighter, and spend forever with her and love her-_

He bites his tongue, hard.

_I made a promise._

Exhaling slowly, he smoothes his thumb over your lower lip, murmuring, “Can you open your mouth for me? I have the tablet.”

Your lips part, and he places the tablet on your tongue nimbly, reaching over to get the water. He helps you to swallow some, getting the tablet down without issue, before doing the same with another one. Finished, he holds you against him again, unsure of what to do next. You’re shaking in his arms, trembling like a leaf in the breeze.

He hates to see you like this. When he glances down at your face and sees it contorted in pain, it’s like he’s been punched in the gut. He  _feels_  it. It  _hurts him too_.

_I guess this is what love is. Being willing to do anything and everything for someone, and never wanting to be away from them. Sacrificing for them. Hurting for them. Feeling everything they feel because you can’t stand anything less. Wanting to take their world on your shoulders to make them happy, because then, you’ll be happy, too._

Your fingers grip his arm harder, bringing him out of his thoughts. Your eyes squeeze together tightly, teeth clamped down hard on your lower lip. Your head buries itself in the front of his shoulder, pushing against it forcefully. Your breathing becomes irregular, and you squirm where you sit, now practically in his lap.

His heart may as well explode. His mind lapses into chaos.

“Princess?” He brushes your hair back, cupping your cheek and trying to peer at your face. “Princess? Talk to me; I’m here.”

You let out a quiet howl of pain, gasping out, “It hurts… my head. Please, Nico. It hurts so much. Please…” Tears start to trickle down your cheeks, and you stifle a sob, the agony clear as day in your voice. “Make it stop. It hurts.”

He can’t bear this anymore. He thinks it must be a migraine, from how much pain you’re in and your other symptoms, but he’s never seen one this aggressive before. He needs to act, quickly, to help you through this as much as he can.

“Ssh…” He hushes you, pressing a fleeting, sweet kiss to your forehead. “I’ll make it go away, ___. I promise.” He leans down, laying you back in bed. You cling onto him, but he forces himself to take your hands and pull them away, albeit not before kissing both knuckles first. “I’ll be back. I will. I’m not leaving you ever again.”

With that, he lurches up, darting over to the glass walls. He closes the large blinds until they touch the floor and send the room into near pitch blackness. Then, he sprints into the en suite, wetting a flannel with some cold water and wringing it out, retrieving a towel while he does. He returns to you and sets them down on the bedside table, proceeding to bolt out of the room.

Within seconds, he’s thrown himself down the stairs and into the living room, where your mother is sitting in her usual chair, tapping away at her tablet. She looks up in surprise, and Nico gushes out breathlessly, in one big rush of words and syllables, “___’s in agony. It’s her head; it’s hurting really badly, she’s shaking and sweating, and she’s crying as well. It’s getting worse quickly.”

She’s on her feet in microseconds.

She runs up the stairs with him right behind her, lurching into your room with a wild, panicked expression. “___!”

She rushes over to your prone form, now shivering violently, gasping for breath and clutching your head with a frightening painful grip. She whispers to you with swift, worried words. “___, how much have you eaten this week? How much fluid have you had?”

You whimper quietly, forcing out a response. “N-Not much. Felt sick. Didn’t want anything.”

Your mother shakes her head. “Goddammit.” She glances at Nico. “Stay with her. Knowing her, she’s probably let herself go for too long without proper sustenance. I’ll go and get her something to bring her levels up and give her brain something to work with.”

Nico nods immediately. He swoops in once your mother moves away, hands immediately cupping your face with a tender touch. He strokes your cheeks, wiping away the tears very gently. “It’ll go away soon, Princess. I promise. Stay strong for me.”

Your fingers move to his hand, clinging onto him with everything you have. He holds you just as tightly, not planning on letting you go in the slightest.

Your mother returns in maybe three minutes, swinging herself into the room with tea and what looks like a fruit bar. She hurries over, setting the tea down and opening the bar. He squeezes your fingers. “___, I need you to try and eat, okay?” When you moan quietly, burying your face in the pillow, he leans in close. He lowers his voice, breathing into your ear, “Please, Princess. For me? It might help the pain if you eat, even just a little bit.”

You swallow thickly, but you manage a tiny nod.

Seeing this, your mother immediately holds the bar out to him, murmuring, “She’s listening to you. Do you mind?”

He shakes his head almost a bit too quickly. “Of course not. Thank you.”

He takes the bar, shifting a hand around to turn your head toward him. He brings the bar to your lips, and your eyes open just slightly in the dark. “I want to sit up. Please.”

His head bounces up and down, almost fast enough to make him dizzy. He coils an arm around your back again, pulling you up to be sat upright. You lean against him heavily, taking the bar with a weak grip and taking small bites out of it. Your eyes shut, and your fingers clench into a fist, face set in an attempt at controlled concentration. Your mother sits on your other side, stroking your hair, while he keeps his arm around you.

Once you’re done, you manage to sip at your tea until it’s gone, at which point you hunch over yourself, arms braced around your head. You howl into your knees with pain, and your mother gives Nico a serious look.

“Let’s get her lying down. She needs to try and sleep it off.” He makes a sound of agreement. He hugs you into his chest while she pulls the covers back, and then he lies you down, being careful to set your head down against the pillow gently. Your fingers remain clenched around his forearm, causing him to glance at your mother unsurely. She gives him a small smile. “You can go, you know. You don’t have to stay.”

His heart starts pounding in his chest, stuttering with mild panic. He can’t think through his response before it leaves his lips. “I want to. Please, let me stay and help. She’s done so much for us. Can I?”

She looks mildly taken aback at his almost urgent tone, blinking and watching him for a long moment. Then, her face softens in the dark, and another ghost of a smile appears on her lips. “Of course you can.” She picks up your empty cup, then the wrapper for the fruit bar, before heaving herself to her feet. “Just remember what we said. Okay?”

“I will.” She presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering tenderly,

“Nico’s here for you, sweetie. I’ll be downstairs. Try to relax.” With no response from you, she pulls back, leaving the room without another word. The door closes, sending the space around Nico into complete darkness and silence.

Now alone with you, he decides to do what he wants to do.

_I’m going to make her happy, in the way I always have._

He drapes himself next to you, on top of the covers, before he tucks you in. His arm slips under your pillow, while his other hand drifts to your cheek, the backs of his fingers tickling across your skin like feathers. You curl in on yourself, quiet, sharp intakes of breath echoing in the otherwise silent room. Throat turning thick with emotion, he scoots closer, until he’s lying inches away from you.

_It would be so easy to kiss her._

He bites his tongue again.

Ignoring the inappropriate thought, he hushes you softly, whispering, “Try your best to sleep, Princess. If you can sleep, the pain will go away.” His hand takes yours from where it’s clutching at his sleeve, and he kisses it without thinking. “Will it help if I sing?”

You take in a shallow, ragged breath, forcing out, “Yeah. Please.”

_Okay. I can do that, no problem. She loves hearing the lullaby I remember mother singing when I was little, so I’ll sing that._

He inhales deeply, preparing himself, before he clears his throat. He gazes down at you in the dark, taking in your pained expression and slightly trembling form, while he opens his mouth and allows the words to leave his lips in a gentle, lulling hum. The low, steady vibrations of his voice, purring out from his throat, are soothing to you, and he knows it very well.

Relieved upon seeing your agonised expression lessen slightly, he moves the arm under your pillow, slipping it under your neck instead, so the warmth from it has the chance to help with the pain. You seem grateful for the movement, shuffling closer to him and nuzzling your face into his bicep. His heart misses a few beats, then evens out again, albeit faster than usual, while he tries to keep calm.

_Even like this, all I can think is how beautiful she is. I just want to kiss her and make her forget about the pain. I want her to be mine._

His eyes never leave you, not once. Despite the room being almost pitch black, he can see somewhat, and it’s enough. He studies you, taking in every tiny, breath-taking detail. The clammy, flushed pallor of your skin, your eyelashes, delicate and fluttering slightly with the shifting of your eyes. Your lips, rosy with your heightened temperature, parted slightly. The soft, gradually deepening breaths slipping through them. The strands of your hair teasing at your face, brushing your temple and forehead.

Your legs curl up, brushing against Nico’s. Heat flushes through him, making it significantly harder to not do something mildly (meaning, outright) suggestive of his feelings. He closes his eyes, continuing to sing to you, while the fingers on his free hand ghost over your cheek, smoothing the rebel strands of hair away from your face. You’re so warm, so  _alive_ , that it’s impossible for him to take his skin away from you. He keeps stroking your cheek, repetitively, calming you.

But in a way, he thinks it’s his way of maintaining self-control, as well. Having the small amount of contact with you at all times helps him to keep his stronger desires under control.

You’ve stopped wincing, thankfully. Your expression is settling, no longer strained with suffering and pain. You appear relieved at this, snuggling closer to Nico as if thinking that it will take away your migraine faster. When your head buries itself in his shoulder, he stiffens momentarily, scrambling to keep his thoughts clean and controlled. He swallows thickly.

“Sorry.” His eyes fly open, confusion running rife in his mind. He glances down at you, seeing the part of your face visible expressing remorse. He blinks.

“For what?” He murmurs, keeping his voice low so as to not provoke the migraine more. You let out an unintelligible sound, before you sigh heavily, mumbling,

“Lying so close to you. If I’m making you uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay; I unders-”

“God, Princess.” He interrupts you gently, cupping your jaw before kissing the crown of your head. You release a breath, relaxing into the touch, while he sighs out, “You couldn’t make me uncomfortable if you tried, ___. I don’t mind at all; I love cuddling you. You know that!” He laughs out the last part more to cover himself in the future, before his curiosity and miniscule hope gets the better of him. “Does it help? Being close to me?”

_Please say yes. Please give me something to throw at the other guys to make them back off…_

“Mm…” You hum for a few seconds, then nod sluggishly, face rubbing against his shoulder with the movement. “Yeah. I’m much calmer and more relaxed when I’m close to you, or any of the guys. I think I’ve told you that before, at one point.”

_Ouch. Not quite what I wanted, but I’m in the equation. That counts for something, at least._

You inch in, carrying on, “I don’t know why. I just feel really safe when I’m with you guys, and I’m a cuddly person, so it makes me happy, being close to you all.”

A soft, gentle smile graces his lips. He makes you feel safe. That’s an achievement in itself. He nuzzles his forehead against your hair very tenderly, responding,

“Well, if being close to us makes you happy, I’m perfectly fine with it! I love cuddles too; there’s nothing wrong with that!” Hearing your breathy, tired chuckle, he puckers his lips against your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo while he gives you his longest kiss yet. “If it’ll help, let’s cuddle properly. Come here, Princess!”

_Score one to me. Even if Leo sleeps in her bed sometimes, or he and Alyn have her help them sleep on full moons, I bet they haven’t done this yet._

Feeling smug, excited beyond relief and thankful to whatever forces that have given him this chance, he shifts, half sitting up. He carefully but swiftly lifts you up, allowing him to move his arm under your neck to be nestled snugly around the curve of your waist. Once he lays you back down, his other arm curls around your middle, hand coming up to gently settle your head against his shoulder. Your hand comes up, fingers curling into the material of his throw-over, and your leg is nudged closer to his as he coaxes your frame against him.

Apparently finding it awkward to cuddle with the cover between you, and using an obvious lack of precision and aim, you kick the cover back and off you, until it’s bunched up at the end of the bed. Your vested, short-clad form is exposed.

Nico bites his tongue again. This time, he tastes blood.

“Sorry,” You mumble again, getting comfy in his arms. “I was too hot with the cover on.”

_You should be sorry, Princess, because now I can see your legs, and your arms, your shoulders, your feet… I’m not made of stone. How am I supposed to stop myself from kissing her when she’s so close like this, and so vulnerable?_

“Don’t worry!” He chirps, hiding his real feelings behind his usual, chipper tone. “I don’t mind. I’ll keep you warm, Princess.”

Deciding to be daring, but keeping it appropriate, he slips his leg under yours, cuddling your waist tightly and burying his nose in your hair. Your leg remains on top of his, something akin to a small victory for him, while you hold onto his throw-over firmly, fingers pleasantly warm against his chest through the shirt.

“Is this okay?” He whispers, lips resting against the shell of your ear. You make a sound of agreement, deep in your throat.

“Yeah, thanks. I’m really comfy.” You whisper just as quietly, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at your lips. “The migraine’s not as bad now, either.”

He can’t help but grin, pride, relief and joy swelling in his chest. He’s relieved you of pain. He’s helped you and made you happier. He’s shown you that he can take care of you, and that you can rely on him. He blows in your ear teasingly, feeling you jump just slightly and hearing your squeak of surprise. “See? You can always count on me to make you smile, because when you smile, you feel happier! Even a migraine can’t resist a beautiful smile like yours, Princess.”

A puff of laughter dances out of you, and he can see you grinning properly now, already flushed cheeks burning a brighter red with your flush. “That’s true. Thank you very much, Nico, really. I’m really grateful for you being here.” You giggle softly, calming down once more and cuddling into him again. “You’re like my own personal painkiller.”

He joins in with your giggling, agreeing, “Yep! Using Meier-exclusive techniques, your own Nico Migraine-Relief will sing, laugh and tease away the pain, leaving you smiling as gorgeously as before and feeling like yourself in no time!” You have to laugh at that. Nico hums, snuggling closer to you and inhaling deeply. “But, Nico Migraine-Relief is also made exclusively, for one person in particular.”

Your smile softens. He cuddles your waist harder, breathing out, “Only our Princess has access to such effective relief. It’s hers, and hers only, to use.”

_Please understand, Princess. I can’t say it explicitly, but please, understand what I’m saying. My loyalty lies with you, and only you. I’m yours, even without there being romance between us._

It’s silent for several heartbeats. Finally, you move.

Your hand on his chest drifts up, sifting through his pale hair with delicate, nimble fingers and an addictive, tender touch. His eyes become lidded, fluttering closed halfway, as you begin to massage his head. Immediately, he feels at peace. Everything in him calms, tension disappearing and thoughts slowing into a pleasant, hazy numbness. Head settled against yours, he struggles to resist the call of sleep crying out to him, induced and provoked by your wonderful fingers.

Before he even realises it, that same purring noise you always seem to draw from him rumbles through his throat, a sound he has only ever made  _when_  he’s with you. You laugh lightly, but he can hear how tired you are.

“Princess,” He moans, deliberately doing so in a childish way to hide the very much adult pleasure seeping through. “You’re going to make me fall asleep.”

You hum, not once stopping or relenting. “That’s okay. You need it; you’ve insisted on sleeping on the sofa-bed for the past few days, and you’ve looked really tired. You deserve a rest.”

_She trusts me to sleep in her bed with her, cuddling her as if she’s already mine. She’s so innocent and naïve… but then again, she’s not. She just expects that we’re abiding by our promise, and so doesn’t consider those sort of things to be an issue._

He’s too tired to object any further. He links his legs around yours tighter, locking them there, before he tucks your head under his and embraces you against him. “Okay, but I’m not letting you go now. I’m too comfy.”

You nod, speaking in a soothing, hazy, dream-kissed lull. “So am I, and I’m nice and warm, as well. Let’s just sleep.”

_“We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”_

_I’m sorry, Princess. I’m really, really sorry, ___._

He grips you tightly, savouring the short time he has you there, with him, before he finally succumbs to sleep. His last thoughts are absolute, sure, and strong, summoned from deep within his heart.

_I’m sorry, because I am in love with you, and I want you to be mine. I’m sorry that I broke my promise to you, and that my heart wasn’t strong enough to do what you asked of it. I’m sorry that I’ve failed you._

A last, deep, loving kiss to your hair. He adjusts you to be at eye-level with him, resting his forehead against yours. You both drift into a blissfully undisturbed sleep, embraced in each other’s arms in the protection of the dark.

_I’m sorry that, now, it’s my sole purpose to make you mine._

**♡♔♡**


	9. Part IX | Louis | Freedom - 19th July 2015 | 16 | Summer Holidays, Pre-College

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.
> 
> They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.
> 
> “We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”
> 
> So, why did things change, and how?
> 
> Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.

**♡♔♡**

Louis sighs softly.

He sits at your group’s massive table in form, in the Royal Wysterian Academy in Selene. It’s form right now, and it’s the last day of the academic year, so everyone is just reading through the goodbye bulletin while the teacher, Miss Erickson does her emails and leaves them to it. The table is actually four put together, whereas the rest of the room has a maximum of two put together.

Miss Erickson let your group do this, seeing how you all wanted to stay together in one way or another, with the likes of Albert, Byron and Nico not wanting to separate, but Nico wanting to be with you, and then Alyn and Leo wanting to remain together but again wanting to be with you. Now, there’s two three-person tables against each other length-ways, with two two-person tables at either end, allowing all ten of you to sit together. You’re all well-behaved, at least most of the time, and it conserves space on a whole, so Miss Erickson doesn’t mind.

On the front-most three-person table are Alyn, Leo and Louis. On Alyn’s left is the two-person desk, Robert on his immediate left while Giles is on his upper-left. On Louis’ right is Albert, with Byron to his upper-right, on the other two-person table. On the rear, three-person table are Sid, on the left, Nico on the right…

And a space where you should be, right in the middle.

At this point, no one in the group misses school without letting at least one, if not all, of the others know. You’re all in a group chat, and have each other both on Messenger and for texts and calls, so this highly abnormal. Normally, you would’ve let one of them know that you’re going to be off in the morning, so they an adjust their day and routines accordingly and let the teachers know you definitely won’t be in.

Today… nothing. You’ve been silent.

They’ve all tried contacting you, of course. They’ve called, texted, messaged… everything short of going to your house and hunting you down. They’re clueless, and it’s unsettled them all.

It's killing Louis. He’s uneasy, worried and tense, thoughts of you potentially hurt plaguing his mind. Having been bullied extensively before he met you, he was often unaccounted for in lesson because he’d been dragged off somewhere, beaten to a pulp or threatened, jeered at and teased and worse. All he can think about now is you being in that position, and it’s making him feel physically sick.

His grip on his pen tightens without him even registering. It creaks, straining under the pressure. The group glance at him in synchronisation, but he doesn’t see it.

He just wants you. He wants to know you’re okay.

You’ve been with the ICAC, the intelligence agency overseeing crime control and prevention in Wysteria in conjunction with the police and military, for a year and three months now. Your whole demeanour has changed drastically, but you’re still you. You’re mentally so much stronger, more composed, have matured at an amazing rate, have gotten more nimble and skilled physically, and are emotionally better-off, as well.

The boys were all aggressively opposed to it at first, and hated seeing what it did to you in the first few months, but they realise now that it was the right decision. Joining the ICAC, with their support, got you through losing your dad. You’ve just gotten happier and surer of yourself with every job you’ve done. They’ve been to the ICAC headquarters several times, the boys, and have been shown footage of your performance throughout the year by Lucian, your mentor.

At first, you were shaky. You were on little jobs, like surveillance and reconnaissance for lower-level issues like domestics and school matters.

But you got more confident, so, so fast, and you had every right. Your physical capabilities increased, and your mind developed, shaped by Lucian’s careful training to make you think like a Level Four agent.

As they watched you go on an undercover stop and search job of a local who was thought to be selling drugs en mass, the difference was clear to see. You held yourself with surety, with certainty. When your target saw your partner, Dimitri, and made a run for it, you were after him. Your body cam, installed covertly in a choker you always wear now, showed you bolting your way through the city, over railings and through crowds. They all watched you take him down, restraining and maiming him in seconds.

It was beautifully frightening. After that, you only improved, more and more each time, better and better, stronger and faster.

The Level Five agents of the ICAC were awed by your talents, of course. Both you and Lucian kept the boys up to date with what was going on, after they requested that you do, and they soon learned that the agents were starting to shove you into much bigger jobs. Despite having little experience, they started sending you into more dangerous situations, bigger heists and extractions throughout Wysteria that rival typical duties of soldiers. The fury in Lucian’s eyes every time, and the awkward acceptance in yours, told them everything.

They’re treating you differently. For some reason, they’re pushing you harder than everyone else. They’re trying to get something out of you that none of them can see or understand.

Recently, they’ve been calling you in more. They shouldn’t interfere with your life too much, considering that you’re still young and are only just finishing high school today, but they don’t seem to care at all. You’ve been out of lessons frequently, work picked up by agents, who’ve then taken it to you to complete in the headquarters.

Even the teachers in the school, people who are simultaneously agents for the ICAC, aren’t happy. Not one of them agrees with the way they’re straining and stretching your capabilities.

Louis’ expression gives way at long last, his frustration and concern finally shattering the mask of indifference.

The plastic casing of one side of the pen snaps, splintering under the force exerted by Louis’ hand. The others stare at him in shock.

Sid scowls. “Oi, Lou-Lou. What the hell’s up with you?”

Louis’ head jerks up, eyes homing in on Sid’s face. Having not realised how hard he was holding his pen, he now examines the half-broken stationery, at the plastic shards littering the space under his hand. He blinks; he’s never broken something by squeezing it before, and he’s rarely broken anything out of anger, regardless.

“Sid,” Giles sighs out, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair. “You could be a tad more sensitive.”

The taller male rolls his eyes. “Yes, mother.” Ignoring Giles’ heated glare, Sid nudges Louis’ leg under the table with his foot. “Seriously, you looked ready to commit homicide just now. What’s eating at you, icy?”

Louis mimics Giles’ glare, staring at Sid with a sharp gaze. “It’s nothing.”

The response is automatic; it comes without him thinking. He doesn’t want to bear his heart to any of them, let alone Sid. He would only ever expose it to you.

Leo drops his chin onto his hand, gazing lazily at Louis. “Let me guess. You’re worried about her, right?” When Louis remains silent, he sighs, threading his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, me too. I don’t like this. I don’t like it when she suddenly blips off the radar and goes silent.”

There’s a collection of nods, and sounds of agreement. Sid glances at his phone, using Leo and Louis’ positioning in relation to Miss Erickson to hide what he’s doing. He suddenly pauses, expression becoming tense. Louis’ heart jumps into his throat, pulse jumping and spine locking in place.

“What is it?” He questions, perhaps a bit too urgently. Sid sighs heavily, apparently in relief, before he puts his phone away and lazes back against his chair.

“She’s fine. The ICAC called her in all of a sudden, without warning, and took her into a meeting. She can’t say what it was about on Messenger, but she’s coming in; she’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Relief floods Louis’ whole frame, and he sags forward in response, forearms braced against the table to stop him from slumping over limply. His fists clenched, he exhales slowly, trying to calm his racing heart.

_Why am I reacting like this? I’m worried about her because she’s my friend, of course, but… I feel different. This is more intense than usual. It's been like this for months._

Confused by his thoughts, he can only close his eyes, thanking the heavens that you’re alright.

Maybe two minutes later, exactly like your indication, the door opens. You slip inside, dressed in your usual Prefect uniform like the boys. Everyone in the academy’s high school or under has to wear a uniform, but it’s different, and considerably less cool, than the Prefect one. The college students don’t have to wear a uniform, but you and the boys will have to continue wearing the Prefect one if you carry on with the position in September, when you start your college education at the academy.

You and the boys are the prefects for your year, as voted by the year’s students several months ago, despite none of you nominating yourselves or each other for it. You’re the ones the students can go to with worries, concerns or suggestions about school life, bullying, safety issues or personal problems that they can’t handle on their own, if they’re not comfortable with going to a teacher.

The uniform has two versions; one is a white button-up shirt with a black jacket over it, with white trims down the lapels and buttons at the waist. There is also a belt there, which makes the lower waist part flare out when fastened. The skirt is similar, black with white trimmings, with black thigh-high socks and the school’s compulsory black boots. Knee-high socks are permissible as well, despite being less practical for warmth. There are also a pair of black gloves, which go up to the wrists, that can be worn if one wants to.

The second version of the uniform involves the same white button-up shirt with a similar jacket, minus the belt at the waist. This version has black trousers with no trims, but the boots required are the same. They also have the option to wear the same gloves if they wish.

Typically, female prefects wear the first version, and the males the second. You were torn between them, but ultimately decided to stick with the first, not for any particular reason. One of the year six students, a female, decided to wear the second version, though, and you’ve heard that one of the male year twelve students is considering switching to the first version for his last year. You all have a lot of respect and pride for those students, as do many of the other pupils.

Upon noticing your existence at the door, Miss Erickson bounces up, almost seeming to prance over to you. You give her a bright smile, stepping up to her. She converses with you for maybe twenty seconds, while the boys watch on in silent speculation as to what she’s saying, before she nods and pats your shoulder. You grin, giving her a little wave with your fingers, before you walk away from her and toward the table. Miss Erickson returns to her seat, rolling over to her desk with a spin, before returning to her computer.

When you’re close enough, Nico pulls your chair out for you with one hand, and you give him an appreciative smile before sitting down. You chuck your bag under the table, at which point you shuffle in, looking slightly breathless and flushed.

Your head drops onto the desk, hard enough to make the boys jump in their seats.

Nico immediately looks ready to cry, scream and call an ambulance, putting a hand on your back and arm. “___? ___! Please don’t tell me you’ve passed out. You were on such a good streak!”

Instead of the expected moan, groan or intelligible mumble they expect from you, a giggle bursts out of you, followed by a heartier, longer laugh. You rise from the table, shaking your head. “I’m fine, don’t worry. I was just out of breath; I basically ran through the whole school grounds to get in as fast as I could.”

There’s a joint sigh of relief from them all. Louis’ poor heart, about ready to implode from sudden and swiftly-changing emotions, finally starts to calm, although just looking at you makes it pick up again. He tries to keep his voice steady when he speaks, questioning, “What did they need to see you for?”

Your expression softens, but something almost wistful glimmers in your eyes. You give him a half-smile, sighing out, “It’s nothing; I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

The boys hesitate, waiting. That’s code.

_Excessive dismissal means that she needs to tell us something important._

You shake your head. “The weather’s nice today. I might eat on the roof at lunch for a change.”

_Understood._

You can’t speak to them about it here, they realise, from your words. You’re suggesting that to give yourself an opportunity to tell them; it’s something you can’t let other people find out about.

Sid stretches, his usual smirk returning to his face. “I’ll come up with ya.” He pinches the accessory you have in your hair, probably to keep it neat while you were running, and holds it behind his head while he snorts. “I like how it was my spot first, and now you’ve made it your own. That’s theft, y’know.”

You make a face at him, grabbing at the accessory. You fail to reach it, muttering, “It’s only theft if it belongs to you. It doesn’t. The only one committing theft here is you.” You stretch behind his chair, trying desperately to grab his hand. You whine at him, complaining, “Sid, stop it! Give!”

He just laughs, lazing back even further. “Nop-”

Irritated by his messing around, Giles jerks forward to snatch the accessory from Sid, then chucks it back to you before Sid even has time to react. You catch it and return it to your hair, then turn your chair so you’re facing Sid more, your back partially facing Nico. You cross your arms defiantly, and Nico grins, propping his head up on your shoulder. You send Giles a grateful smile. “Thank you, Giles.”

He just sighs, giving Sid a sideward glare. The latter returns it just as intensely. “You’re very welcome.”

While this is happening, Louis’ eyes have moved away from the two bickering males. Instead, the cerulean hues have settled on Nico’s chin atop your shoulder, on his face resting against yours. He watches, expression contorting just slightly with discomfort. Nico closes his eyes, hums low in his throat, and then nuzzles his nose into your throat. Leo draws your attention, starting to talk to you about all of the exams everyone has been doing, and you tilt your head in response; unintentionally giving Nico easier access to your neck.

Louis’ fists clench. He uses his hair to hide his eyes.

Nico sighs contentedly, an arm draped over the back of your chair. He seems entirely at ease, using the others as a shield from the rest of the class and Miss Erickson. Louis becomes painfully aware of him shifting forward, pressing his body against yours more, while his expression shows controlled, but apparent, pleasure.

Louis’ heart aches, grip on his pen tightening again.

Several of the others are observing Nico as well, he realises; Leo, while focusing on you, is also watching Nico, eyes shifting periodically, just enough to show him studying Nico. Alyn is glowering at the pale-haired boy, something close to rage boiling in his crimson hues. Sid is glaring at Nico’s barely visible face from where he sits, and Giles is doing the exact same. Even Byron, of all people, has narrowed his eyes at his brother.

Robert and Albert are unaffected, it seems. They’re keeping up with the conversation, paying no attention to Nico’s apparent advances.

_What… why? Does him doing that make them feel the same as me? Is it normal?_

Nico’s hand drifts down to yours, on the table. He taps the top of your hand, humming a song to the rhythm for a brief few seconds.

That is, before his hand wraps around yours, and his closed eyes slide open. His lips curl into an almost devious, malicious smirk against your throat. He locks gazes with Leo as he does, before he then sends the smirk on to Giles and Sid under your chin.

All at once, six people out of the ten on the table completely lose it.

Louis’ snap involves the pen in his hands breaking in half, the plastic shattering in his hand. Thankfully, the others’ verbal responses drown the sound out.

“Nico.” Byron scolds sharply, tone lashing out at the younger boy like a whip. “Remember where you are.”

“Yeah,” Leo drawls, but his eyes are completely and utterly filled with fury. “You might want to take your hands off her, before the Miss Erickson sees you.”

_The last part wasn’t real. Those words were empty. The first ones weren’t._

“I concur.” Giles murmurs, expression extremely serious and gaze almost hostile. “Please refrain from such behaviour considering our surroundings.”

Nico has hunched up by this point, having cringed from the go at Byron’s telling off. Now, he withdraws from you completely, sitting straight in his chair but hanging his head. His hair obscures his face. “Sorry.”

Leo visibly relaxes. Alyn’s shoulders, having squared as if for a fight, now return to normal, body coming out of its defensive position. Giles’ arms have crossed tightly by this point, but they loosen just a bit now. Sid lazes back in his chair again, rolling his eyes. Finally, Byron raises a rather judgemental eyebrow at Nico, but the warning in his visible eye doesn’t falter in the slightest.

_All of them became aggressive when they saw him doing that. It was like they didn’t want him touching her so intimately. It’s unlike all of them, but it seems so obvious to me._

Louis’ mind blanks for a brief moment.

_It can’t be-_

The fragments of plastic in his hands suddenly seem to weigh a ton.

_They’re jealous. They’re possessive. They’re acting like they want her to only be theirs._

A sharp, sudden pain erupts in Louis’ chest, harsh enough to make him gasp quietly and hunch over.

Immediately, Leo’s hand comes down on his shoulder, and he asks, sounding concerned, “Louis. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Taken aback by the sudden aching in his chest, and breathless at the same time, the blond can only nod. He winces, clutching the broken pen in his hand hard enough that the shards dig into his skin and sting his flesh. He can feel the eyes of the group on him, and he absently thinks that it’s probably wise to leave.

He heaves himself to his feet, managing to almost pant out, “Excuse me.”

Not waiting for a response that he won’t be able to answer, he turns around, approaching Miss Erickson's desk. She glances up in surprise, but then smiles pleasantly. “Hi, Louis. Are you okay?”

He nods, trying not to let the agony in his chest seep into his voice. “Yes. Can I go to the toilet, please?”

She nods, waving toward the door in a friendly gesture. “Of course. Go on.”

“Thank you.”

Wasting no time, he swiftly exits the classroom, stepping outside. He makes a beeline for the toilets, thinking that they’ll be almost if not entirely empty, giving him the space and quiet he needs to think, as well as get rid of this Godforsaken pain in his chest. The pen still clutched in his right hand, his left rises, pressing against the flesh above his heart.

_It hurts._

His breaths become short, eyes moistening. He’s hit by a wave of emotions. Sorrow. Devastation. Confusion. Horror. Fear. Frustration. A tear escapes, sliding down his pale cheek.

_Every time I think of them and her, it hurts. Every time I imagine her being with one of them, despite the promise we made, it hurts so much._

He imagines you in Nico’s arms, him nuzzling your face and whispering short, sweet nothings in your ear. He imagines you blushing, skin flushed, when he tugs you onto his lap. So close, so intimate.

The aching intensifies. Louis stifles a sob, nearly at the toilets. He rounds the corner.

A hand clamps around his forearm. He’s yanked backward, jerked away from the corner with such force that he stumbles, nearly falling. Another hand steadies him, then drags him in the opposite direction, the owner of the hands so strong that he can’t physically stop them from moving him. He blinks away his tears, panic coiling in him.

_Not again. Not another bully. Not another person wanting to hurt me-_

His eyes land on familiar, black hair. Indigo streaks. A familiar, tall, stocky build.

_Sid._

“Sid-” He chokes out, now embarrassed, angry and completely baffled. Sid tugs him harder, and Louis realises that he’s taking him toward the roof. “Stop! What are you-”

“Shut it. I’m helping you out here, trust me.” Sid all but growls. It’s almost like there’s venom in his tone, acidic and cruel, something that only worsens Louis’ off-the-rail emotions. He jerks in Sid’s grip, struggling to free himself from his long-time, less severe bully’s grip.

“I’m not going with you! Let go!” Sid drags him up the stairs to the roof, which is completely empty and silent, since it’s lesson time. Louis swallows back a rising cry, lashing out once more in a last-ditch effort to escape.

It doesn’t work. Sid arm yanks Louis forward, spinning him around so fast that his vision blurs. Before it rights itself, he’s shoved back against the railings and netting at the edge of the roof so hard the breath is knocked out of him. Sid slams a hand against the netting beside Louis’ head, evidently livid, something that Louis has done making him positively enraged.

“Way to make it obvious, dipshit.” He growls. “Let me guess, Louis. You just realised something really damn important, right? You had a big problem with what Nico was doing just now.”

Louis’ strong response dies in his throat, shock overtaking his system. How does he know? “T-That’s not-” His words fall apart, leaving him with only one option; to turn this on Sid before he gets in any deeper. “How about you? The way you were looking at her, the way you looked at Nico…” His chest throbs. His voice rises to a shout. “You have no right to accuse me of that when you obviously have a problem of your own to deal with!”

Sid’s eyes may as well turn to ice. Louis, for the first time, feels genuine, real fear, directly because of him, and his confidence shatters. The taller male glares down at Louis for a long, tense few moments. When he finally responds, it’s quiet, deep, and leaves absolutely no room for argument or protest.

“You’re going to tell me, right now, what the hell just happened to you, because if you don’t, you’re going to hurt ___.”

Louis’ heart stumbles in its rhythm, faltering. Dread seeps through his body. “How?”

“Tell me. I don’t care what it is. No matter how despicable it is, or you think it is, just say it. The likeliness is, I’m the same, unless I’m completely stupid and read this wrong.” Sid commands, the power in the order undeniable. Louis swallows hard.

_I can’t just… I can’t just tell him. I don’t even understand it myself._

But, he realises, he can’t risk it. Sid wouldn’t threaten Louis using you for a laugh. He wouldn’t do it as a joke, ever. He’s not that cruel.

“I…” The words get stuck. Sid eases up slightly, removing the hand from next to Louis’ face, although he doesn’t move away. Louis’ tears return. “I don’t know. I’m confused. I don’t get it- I- I don’t understand.”

His old habits, the ones he’d managed to break away from through years of help from you, all come back at once.

His legs give out of him, mind and body defeated by Sid’s intimidation. He collapses back against the railing, the remainders of his pen clattering onto the floor when his hand opens, limp. His other clutches at his heart. He draws his knees up to his chest, pressing his face into them to hide himself. His now free hand comes up to grip his side, arm locking around his stomach in a weak attempt to protect himself from the pain he’s so used to expecting.

Sid exhales slowly. He lowers himself onto one knee.

“Lou.”

Louis doesn’t respond. He’s too busy trying not to cry. There’s a beat of silence.

“Louis.”

_He-_

Louis’ eyes drift open.

_He said my name, my real name. He said it without being snide, or cruel, or taunting. He just said my name, like everyone else does._

Sid’s hand settles cautiously atop Louis’ knee, and his voice becomes gentler, more controlled. “I’m sorry. That was a douchey thing to do.” Louis freezes. Now, he’s apologising? What’s going on with the world? “I’m going to guess what you’re thinking. Tell me if I’m right, or if I’m the dipshit here.”

Louis swallows again, but he nods.

“When you saw Nico just now, with ___, it made you angry, upset, unhappy or likewise.”

Louis nods again.

“You didn’t want to see him so close with her.”

Another nod.

“It hurt, seeing him touch her like that.”

Another.

“It made you want to take her away from him so he couldn’t do it anymore.”

Hesitation, just for a brief moment of fear. The truth hurts. He nods.

“It made you want to be the one holding and touching her like that.”

Louis’ shoulders tremble. A sob rips its way out of him, amplifying the pain in his chest. He manages a nod. Sid’s silent for a long, few heartbeats.

“You’ve broken the promise you made to her, the promise we all made to each other.”

The guilt strikes him deeply.

_He’s right. He’s always right. He always knows; she’s always on my mind. She’s always there, in my thoughts, always the person I want to see. I want to hug and kiss her, have her close to me and protect her myself. I want her to be mine. I don’t want the others to have her. I want her to only ever look at me._

He forces the nod. Sid squeezes his knee lightly.

“You love her.”

_I love her. Yeah. I’m in love with my best friend, even though I promised her I never would be._

He breaks down. All the guilt, all the pent-up frustration, sadness, jealousy and desperation in him breaks loose. He sobs into his knees, real, heart-wrenching, wracking cries so violent that they rattle his body and the netting behind him. He wails with the agony in his chest, the crushing realisation that Sid has made him understand in thirty seconds flat practically ripping him apart from the inside out. He’s betrayed your trust. He doesn’t deserve to be in the group; he’s gone back on the most important principle the whole friendship was founded on.

He cries harder, more intensely.

_I’m going to be hurt again._

He’s never felt so devastated in his life.

_I’m going to be bullied again._

He doesn’t want it.

_I don’t want to be on my own again._

Seeing Louis descending into the deep, dismal abyss of guilty realisation, Sid sighs and stands up, closing the door to the stairs. He returns to Louis, sliding down to the ground next to him. Doing something he never thought he’d do in his life, nor something that Louis would ever anticipate he’d do, he swallows his pride and decides to be a good friend for once.

He tucks Louis under his arm, leaning his frail, sobbing form against his side.

Louis doesn’t even have the strength to recoil in horror, like he normally would. Strangely, he finds a degree of comfort from the action, knowing that Sid understands, or at least definitely appears to. Sid’s hand rubs his shoulder comfortingly, and he sighs softly. He lets the blond cry to him, lets him release all the emotions Sid had to deal with on his own a whole year and a half ago.

“Yeah.” He breathes out, staring up at the clear sky. It’s too bright. It’s too happy, when combined with the devastation rolling from Louis. “I know the feeling, Lou. I’m in love with her too.”

Somehow, that hurts, but for a multitude of reasons. It hurts because it’s kind of Sid to admit it. It hurts because it breaks his heart, that Sid actually understands what Louis is going through. It shatters Louis’ resolve, because he realises that it’s not just him who loves you, and so it’s not just him who will be vying for your heart. He has competition now, for something he didn’t even know he should have been fighting for. He’s wasted so much time because he didn’t understand his feelings.

“The… the others…”

He chokes out the prompting words. Sid’s hand stills atop his shoulder.

“Alyn, Byron, Giles, Leo and Nico are all the same, and we’ve all agreed to not tell her. You’ll agree to it as well, even if it hurts. If you don’t, she’ll suffer ten times what we’re feeling by staying quiet.”

Sid speaks the exact thing that Louis didn’t want to hear. For once, there’s sympathy in his body. There’s empathy in his voice. And, most of all, there’s a hidden, deep-rooted, burning agony in his eyes, and it’s the most terrible thing to witness in someone who, to Louis, has always seemed invulnerable to pain.

He doesn’t stop crying for a long, long time. Sid never leaves his side.

**♡♔♡**

Sid and Louis stay on the roof for the rest of form. When they return at the end, Sid tells Miss Erickson that Louis had severe chest pain and was struggling to breathe, and so Sid stayed with him until it went away, in case he needed to go home. She understands and lets them go without further questioning.

The aching hasn’t gone. It hasn’t even dulled.

Sid takes the time to explain how each of the others found out about their feelings for you, and how your mother brought them all together to confront them about it. For a good while, Louis genuinely thinks Sid’s making it up. He expects him to laugh and tell him it’s a joke, or that it’s an extremely late, extremely distasteful April Fool’s Day prank. He never does.

By the time they return to the others for lunch on the roof, Louis’ eyes have returned to normal, although his breathing still becomes slightly ragged every so often. As soon as the two appear at the stairs, you’re bounding over to them, questioning Louis and asking him if he’s alright. You check him over, trying to work out what’s wrong. All he can do is stare at you.

____._

The roof is empty, apart from your group, so when you put your hand on his forehead to feel his temperature, he doesn’t hesitate in leaning into your touch, closing his eyes.

_You can’t fix my pain. For once, you can’t help me. I’m sorry._

When Sid insists that Louis’ fine, and he hooks an arm around your waist, carrying you over to the benches where you all sit, Louis wanders over like a dead man walking. He sort of floats down onto a bench, taking his lunch out in an automatic, almost robotic motion. He’s too strained, tired and in shock to do anything else.

“So, what did you need to tell us?” Leo asks, popping some pasta into his mouth. He chews, swallows, then continues, “And how come you were out this morning?”

You sigh heavily, retrieving your own lunchbox and setting it on your lap. You’re all sat on benches, which hold three people comfortably and four at a stretch. On your bench are Leo, on your right, and Giles, on your left. On the bench opposite you are Louis, Sid and Alyn. On the bench directly to your right are Byron and Albert, and then to your frontal-right are Nico and Robert, on their own bench.

“It was the ICAC. They called an emergency meeting.” You lower your voice, tone quiet and serious. “I can tell those who need to know this for familial reasons, so I can tell you guys what’s going on, but you know you’re sworn to silence. Right?”

They all nod. They’d never tell a soul any of the confidential information you pass on to them.

“You guys know about the problems going on in Dregea, don’t you?” Everyone except Nico nods. He grins sheepishly, nibbling on a biscuit. You grin back, although it’s not as bright as usual.

“There have been major riots and revolts in Dregea, anti-establishment ones, in the past few months. The groups there opposing the monarchy and government have formed a rebel group, and have been slowly taking control of more and more of Dregea. They now pretty much run and are in charge of the whole region, and are trying to declare Dregea as an independent country rather than a district.”

You inhale, then shake your head in exasperation. “That’s not immediately horrific. What is, is that they’ve now cut off Dregea from the rest of Wysteria and have set up borders, with patrols, all armed. They’ve threatened to use force against anyone who attempts to withdraw the rebels from the district, or take control back from them, and they’re as such trapping the civilians there inside. They’re struggling to manage the financial aspects of the region, because people are now unable to get things in and out of the region, and so the prices of things are going up quickly. People there are trapped, and many of them are starving now. They can’t last much longer.”

They can see where this is going. You chew and swallow a bite of your lunch, then down a gulp of water, before you conclude, “Because of all of this, the ICAC has been asked to conduct a covert breach and clear job; to essentially get into Dregea, restrain, maim or – if necessary – kill the rebels in there, then remove the borders and restore order to the district.”

It’s quiet for a moment while the boys mull this over. Louis’ heartache worsens, and he keeps his eyes downcast to hide the crippling devastation still consuming him.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Sid counters. “Why aren’t the military taking care of this? It’s basically anti-terrorism. Why is the intelligence service going in?”

You wave a hand, getting through another mouthful of food. “ _Because_ , if they send the military in, it’s much more likely to cause panic. If you saw, ‘Army descends on rebel-held Dregea’, you’d be scared. If you saw, ‘ICAC descend on rebel-held Dregea’, you wouldn’t be as immediately concerned. They have to think about the public in this. People inside Dregea would be horrified, as well, if they knew that the army was about to come rolling into their district to fight the rebels. By having the ICAC do it, it’s more likely that it’ll be quick, quiet and will cause less destruction. The military can’t guarantee that.”

“The ICAC can’t, either.” Alyn mutters. You nod sombrely.

“Yeah, that’s true. But we have to try either way; people are dying in there because of those rebels. Apparently people have been shot trying to escape. We can either wait and let more people be shot, starve or become dehydrated, or we can go in, fully intending to save every civilian in there, and clear out the rebels while letting the innocents out.” You respond gently. No one can fight you on that.

“So, you were taken to that meeting because…” Leo trails off expectantly, already knowing what you’re going to say. All of them do. Your expression becomes grim.

“They brought me in for the meeting because they want me to go in as well.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“For fuck’s sake, ___.” Sid sighs out, aggravated.

Byron’s eyes narrow. “I object entirely.”

Albert scowls. “I agree.”

Nico gapes, looking lost for words. “P-Princess, you can’t. You’ve only just recovered from being shot. You can’t seriously-”

“Nico,” Leo almost moans out, tone whiny and fed up. “Look at her face. Look into her eyes and tell me that you think she’ll change her mind if you ask her not to go.”

Nico glances up at you. You fix him with a calm, cool, determined stare, no hesitation in your eyes in the slightest. “I’m going, Nico. I want to. I want to help them, even though I don’t yet understand their reasoning for taking me in.”

He drops his face into his hands. “I can’t take this.” He whimpers. “I nearly died when I found out you got shot, and now you’re going into what’s basically a civil war-zone?”

Leo snorts, expression exasperated. “Same.”

Giles crosses his arms, watching you with intense focus. “We’ve seen your assessments and footage from training. You’re most definitely at the point of satisfying the requirements for a Level Three agent, as you’ve been promoted to, but this still seems like a colossal leap in terms of job intensity and difficulty. Are you sure you should be going into something so dangerous, when you – in all honesty – have little experience?”

You shrug, not at all offended by the last part. “I personally don’t think I do at all. You guys know how difficult it was getting me into a team, right?”

That receives blank looks all around. You chuckle. “Okay. Basically, when I first joined, they needed to put me in a team; no one ever does jobs alone. My partner’s always been Dimitri, because I’ve known him for years and we work well together, but my team was a pain in the arse to decide.

“Literally, and I’m not exaggerating, here, too many teams wanted to take me on. They were all shown my footage from training after six months, and they all requested to have me on their teams. It was probably more because my dad was such a high-profile agent, but the point was that the Level Fives really struggled to pick a team that would take care of me and not expect too much from me.

“Leading on from that, they’ve always pushed me really hard. I think it’s because of my dad that they have; they expect me to be like him, because he was so good, and I’ve managed to keep up with everything they’ve asked of me, so now they’re just blasting me through the ranks. The next youngest person going into Dregea is twenty-three.”

They all stiffen.

You’re only just finishing high school. That’s at least a six-year difference.

“Basically, I think they’re testing my limits. The Level Fives just seem to want to see how far they can push, and how much I can push back. They’re throwing me into a mission I’m not experienced enough for, not actually old enough for, and too much of a new agent for, to see if I can handle it.”

“Well then, reject the damn job! They can’t make you do it when you’re at such a disadvantage, and it’s so dangerous!” Alyn snaps. You shake your head.

“I want to. I want to do it; I think I’ll be okay. I’ll have a lot of other agents to rely on, so I’ll be fine.” You assure him. He rolls his eyes.

“That’s what you said when you went after Gerald.”

You wince. Byron and Albert send him a glare. Nico lowers his head.

“___,” Giles draws your attention back to him, asking, “When will you be going?”

You swallow, eyes remaining on your hands, wrapped around your water bottle. Your teeth sink into your lower lip for a fleeting second. “Tonight.”

Chaos ensues.

There’s shouts of protest from them all, objections and insults toward the ICAC flying at you from all sides. You don’t reply to any of them, instead staring at your hands. Your mind is made up; you’re not changing your decision.

The only one not verbally expressing their disagreement is Louis. He gazes at you sadly, eyes like those of a puppy whose owner is about to leave them. You glance up at him for a brief second, giving him a half-smile. He can’t form one of his own.

_How cruel of life. To make me realise that I love her, and to then take her away from me the very same day… sometimes, I really, truly can’t stand this world._

**♡♔♡**

That night, the boys come to your house to say goodbye to you.

Their attempts at persuading you out of your decision fall on deaf ears, and by six in the evening, your things are packed, ready for the week-long stay with the ICAC before, during and after the job. Their car, sent to pick you up, is loaded with your bags, and you stand in front of it, your boys encircling you in a half-moon.

“Well,” You breathe out, smiling tenderly. “It’s time. Wish me luck; if this goes well, we’ll have saved a lot of lives.”

Leo sighs heavily, but he manages to smile back, stepping up to you. “Yeah, as long as you keep your own life safe, Princess.” He scoops you up in his arms, embracing your waist and spinning you around. You hug him back tightly, letting him twirl you around while you laugh.

“I will, I promise. I’ll be back in no time.” He sets you down, and Nico bounces over next, throwing his arms around you. You bury your face in his chest, and he trembles just a little as he murmurs,

“Please stay safe, Princess. Don’t you dare get hurt on us again, and don’t do anything reckless, okay?” He pulls back, then cups your face so that he can rest his forehead against yours. Eyes imploring, he gazes at you, breathing out, “Promise me, Princess. Promise me you’ll stay safe and come back to us.”

You nod. “I promise, on my life. I’ll be careful and keep myself safe. Okay?”

He returns the nod before letting go. Robert moves forward now, allowing his hands to ghost over yours, then lift them to his lips. He kisses each knuckle lovingly, then curls his arms around you, cradling your head against his chest. “I hope you know that it’s in your best interest to come back safe.” He chuckles, brushing a kiss atop your hair. “There’s no telling what we’ll do if you don’t.”

You giggle softly, giving him a squeeze. “I’ll make sure I come back in pristine condition, then.”

He grins softly, withdrawing. Giles goes next, doing the same as Robert and kissing your knuckles, before then smoothing his fingertips over your cheekbones and under your jaw. Tipping your face upward, he dusts a kiss against your forehead. “For the sake of our sanity, ___, return to us in one piece, please.”

You grin, eyes sparkling, before you briefly close them and lean into his touch. “Will do.”

He chuckles, kissing the spot once more, before releasing you. Byron’s next, apparently; he moves in close, then doesn’t hesitate in the slightest as he loops his arms around your waist, lifting you into the air and against him. Your arms curl around his neck automatically, and a smile graces your lips as he buries his lips in your shoulder, still covered by your uniform’s blazer. You rub his back and shoulder soothingly, knowing how hard this must be for him.

“I’ll be fine, Byron. I promise, they’ll keep me safe. It’s okay.” You whisper. He embraces you tightly, for a long few seconds, surprising several of the others. When he finally puts you down, you cup his face, murmuring, “Trust them. For me, trust the ICAC. Trust that they’ll bring me home. Believe that I can do this, because if you believe in me, I will make it home.”

Your eyes drift to Alyn for a brief second. He was the one who told you, a long time ago, that if other people believe in you, it should be more than enough reason for you to ensure that you return home safely. His hard expression falters a little, eyes clouding with a mix of emotion.

Byron reaches up, grasping your right hand with his, before he removes it from his cheek. He presses a gentle kiss to your palm. “I believe in you, and I trust in them. Return to us; we’ll be waiting.”

You nod. “I will.” Byron backs up, and you look back to Alyn, giving him a lopsided grin. “Do I get a hug before I go, Mr. I Don’t Care?”

He tuts, cheeks glowing just a bit with increased blood flow. “Idiot.” His gaze skitters away, arms remaining crossed, but his words are very different. “Come here, then.”

Leo howls with laughter at his conflicting statement, further worsening Alyn’s blush. You giggle, bouncing over to him. When you come in range of him, he sighs and opens his arms, letting you throw yours around him and bury your face in his chest. He hugs your waist, arguably tighter than any of the others, and his palms grip your sides hard. He holds you close, pressed right against him, and his lips are at you ear when he speaks.

“Be careful. Don’t take risks, don’t do anything stupid, and don’t get killed.” Feeling you nod and hum into his shirt, he sighs, breathing out, “We all need you here, dummy. I’ll kick your ass if you don’t come back unharmed.”

You can’t hold back your snicker at that. “Heard loud and clear.”

He lets you go. Your grin widens, eyes settling on Albert. “Let me guess; I’m going to get a head pa-”

He doesn’t let you finish. Before you get the chance, he’s in front of you, blushing profusely, and has gingerly lifted your left hand to his lips. He presses a delicate, somewhat nervous kiss to the top of it, eyes diverted to the ground. When he lets it go, he clears his throat, fiddling with his blazer before doing the same with his glasses. “I expect you to return to us on time, in perfect condition, with a report of absolute success. If you don’t, I will be thoroughly displeased.”

You try to stifle your laughter. You really, really do.

It escapes, though, and you burst into hysterical howls almost in synchronisation with Nico. You end up hunched over, clutching your stomach, from the intensity of them. When you finally straighten up, swiping tears from your face, you nod fiercely. “I’ll have nothing short of perfection, Albert, I swear. I won’t let you down.”

His blush may as well be its own sentient being, it’s so strong. He coughs. “Good.”

Leo giggles. “C’mon, Al. Give her a hug; be nice!”

Just like he did after the kick-off, he shoves Albert in the back, hard enough to send him stumbling into you. He pushes you into him as well, and you end up in his arms once more, while Albert chokes on his own shock and sends a death glare at Leo. Sid and Nico are in fits by this point, and both high-five Leo when he saunters back to them. Albert detaches himself once he gets his balance back, swiftly returning to Byron and using him as a partial shield.

All of this finally leaves… Sid and Louis.

Sid strides over, rolling his eyes. “These guys suck at hugs. C’mere, Princess.”

Without the slightest hesitation, he scoops you up and spins you around, his added height meaning that you practically fly in his arms with the momentum. You giggle uncontrollably, clutching his neck for stability, for the ten or so seconds that he twirls you for. When you’re sufficiently dizzy and off-balance, he sets you down, then watches with smug satisfaction as you tip toward him. He catches you by your arms and steadies you, glancing over his shoulder at the guys.

“Oi, everyone go and check she didn’t forget anything. The last thing her mother needs is the ICAC dropping by to pick up her toothbrush.” He all but commands, using a rare, authoritative tone that he has only used in a handful of situations.

The boys, except for Robert and Albert, were ready for this. Minus the latter two, they discussed it upon arriving at your house.

Louis needs you, a hell of a lot more than them right now, and he’s not going to be able to have you for a whole week. He needs these few minutes more than anything.

So, they grumble or laugh or obey as they normally would to such an order, Giles coaxing Robert inside while Albert follows Byron obediently. Sid cups your face with one hand, the other squeezing your arm, before he kisses your forehead. “Be safe, Princess. Come back to us.” He brushes a last, almost non-existent, feathery kiss over your cheek, a secret little promise between you. You smile tenderly, squeezing his forearm back.

“I promise. I’ll be back.” He just nods, letting you go and spinning on his heels, going inside.

The whole thing, the whole three-odd minutes this has taken, has been torture to Louis. He’s hurting so, so much right now.

You sense that something’s off immediately, bounding over to Louis without a second thought. “Hey,” You murmur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me. I’ve got time.”

He wishes he could. He wishes he could scream to the world what he’s feeling right now.

But he can’t. So, he settles for what he _can_ do.

He coils his arms around your waist, locking and trapping you in an iron-tight grip. Taken aback by his uncharacteristic use of force, you stiffen for a fleeting second, before you then embrace his head and neck with astounding delicacy and care. It’s not rocket science, working out that he needs comfort. You stroke his hair straight away, sifting your fingers through the locks with love, care and kindness, trying to soothe him and whatever’s plaguing him.

“Louis,” You utter, voice breathed out into his throat. He shivers around you, unable to stop it. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you. Don’t bottle everything up inside; it’ll just keep mounting and building up, and then it’ll explode and hurt you all the more. You need to talk to me and let me help you.”

The tears he’s been repressing all afternoon rush back. His throat closes up, and he buries his face in your shoulder.

_I can tell her this. This is true._

“I-” His voice cracks, and he heaves in a deep breath, trying again. “I’m… I…”

_Why is it so hard to say?_

Your fingers smooth over the back of his head. The other hand massages his shoulder. “Just say it, Louis. It’s okay. I’m here.”

_It hurts. My chest aches again. My heart’s bleeding._

“I…” He swallows, forcing out the words that feel like a taboo to speak. “Miss you.”

You go completely still in his arms. The fear returns.

But then, you’re tightening your hold on him, nuzzling your face into his, arms secured around his neck. “Oh, Louis.” You breathe out. He grips your sides harder. “I’ll miss you too. It’s only for a week, and then I’ll be back and it’ll be the holidays. You can come over as much as you want then, okay? Do you want to have sleepovers? We can watch films, or play games, or sit and talk in French, if that’s what you want. Do you want to do that?”

He could cry at the innocent, naïve sincerity in your voice. You’re so beautiful, it’s terrifying. He’s nodding before he even has time to consider the offer. “Yeah. Please… I’d like that.”

You nod voice even firmer and surer now. “Okay, then it’s a promise. We can have as many sleepovers as you want and do the things you want to do. I know it’s been hectic with exams and that we haven’t seen each other much; I’m sorry it’s been like that. After this, you can have all the time you want, Louis. I promise.”

_She’ll spend time with me. I can stay with her. I can be close to her._

His heart aches even more, somehow. He doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the week without you.

Face hidden in your neck, he whispers, “Please stay safe. Be careful, and watch what’s going on around you. Please, _please_ …” Emotion chokes his words in his throat, and he swallows hard, needing to say them. “Come back to us. Don’t do anything reckless. I couldn’t… I can’t bear the thought of…”

_Of you dying._

If you die on this mission, he’ll never be able to know if, maybe, just maybe, you would have loved him back. He almost blurts it out right there and then.

You pull back, cradling his face in your hands, eyes locked with his. You touch your forehead against his, uttering ever so softly, “I swear, Louis. I swear, on all that I am, on _who_ I am, that I will come back. I’ll be back, and I’ll be here as much as you need and want me. I promise.” Reaching down, you take his hand, linking your little finger through his. “There. I can’t break that promise now. I will come back.”

_I know you will._

He nods, blinking his tears away, but a few of them drip over his eyelids and run down his face. You brush them away, a gentle smile gracing your lips. “Hey, no tears for me, okay? Hope, believe, and trust in me. If you do, there’s no reason to cry.”

_Oh, Princess. There is a reason, but you could never know it._

You finally remove yourself from his arms, getting into the car. The others, waiting by the path to your house, wave and nod their goodbyes from a distance, and Louis never takes his eyes from you. It’s only when the car has pulled away and disappeared around the corner that he finally closes his eyes. He collapses to his knees, the jolt of pain shooting through them barely registering. He sits back on his heels, fresh tears running down his cheeks.

_You could never know I’m in love with you._

**♡♔♡**

For the next five days, Louis visits the ICAC headquarters.

Lucian isn’t surprised by him showing up, and allows him to enter the high-security building to update him on your situation. He takes him into the control room where he’ll be once you’re on the job, with screens set up, linked to your body cam, to show everything going on. For the first four days, all that’s going on is last-minute preparation and training.

On the fifth day, he, and the others, receive the group call from Lucian.

“___’s going in, tonight. I’ve gotten clearance for you, and her mother, to see what happens so you know she’s safe. If you want to be here, you can be, but you’ll then have to stay overnight until we declare the job over in the morning. We don’t usually do this, but considering who her father was and how young she is, it’s allowed – the families of those under eighteen can be present for high-level jobs.”

Louis doesn’t hesitate. He’s moving instantly, finding clothes and things he’ll need, then making an excuse to his not-so-familial family and taking their private car to the ICAC. He’s the first one there, even before your mother, but Lucian is already waiting.

He’s nervous. As he sits in the room, bright and full of state-of-the-art technology and equipment, his stomach is coiling and clenching, twisting around itself with fear. Even as you mother arrives and hugs him, assuring him you’ll be fine, even as the others turn up and do the same, he can’t shake it off.

Something’s wrong. He can feel it. He’s not just tense – he knows this is going to go awry.

It takes all day for things to get moving, and it’s just going on nine in the evening when your body-cam flickers to life. They all whip around to the screen showing it, there being others now displaying what look like helicopter cams and the cams of other agents. Lucian is murmuring into the microphone clipped to his ear, speaking lowly, unable to be understood.

They watch from your perspective, observing your armoured body when you look down, as you’re checked over by Dimitri, your partner. He makes sure your equipment is all good, then hands you a gun, a long, heavy-looking assault rifle. You’re outside, on what looks like a landing strip, and the end of a helicopter can be seen behind Dimitri. Lucian turns the audio feed on.

“You ready?” Dimitri asks. The camera shakes slightly; you must be nodding.

“Yeah. A bit nervous, but I’m okay.” Dimitri smiles slightly, choppy brunette hair falling around his face, icy eyes calm and collected. He lifts his helmet, pulling it on and fixing it in place. His face is hidden by the glass, tinted darkly from the outside, rendering him now unidentifiable.

“Don’t worry; we’re here with you. It’ll be fine. Our intel says they’ve just got guns, and we’ve got bigger ones, so it’ll be alright. We’ve got the advantage of coming in from the air, too; it means we’ll be able to use the buildings to our advantage.” He assures you, stretching his arms before retrieving his own gun from the floor. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

You make a sound of agreement. He starts to jog over to one of the helicopters, large and black, obviously military and ready for combat. The main compartment has no doors, and five seats line the inside, metal hooks sat ready at the edges of the floor.

Dimitri bounces up and in, sitting in one of the seats before reaching down to a hook. You sit next to him and do the same with the hook on the opposite side. With the limited field of vision of the cam, those watching can only listen as there are footsteps, and then three more agents enter the helicopter, sitting in the three seats opposite you and Dimitri. The two on the left hook themselves up, while the third just snorts.

“You’re all such teacher’s pets. We’re breaching and clearing; we don’t need freaking safety hooks.” A female voice mocks, cocky and relaxed. Dimitri responds dryly, not seeming in the slightest amused.

“But if something is to go wrong, it would be wise to have it on, rather than be flung out of the helicopter. Put it on.”

They descend into bickers, back and forth between them, like children on a playground. They hear you sigh softly, your voice being patched through to the monitor so Lucian can speak to you. Lucian presses the button on his microphone and speaks, watching the ground personnel give the clear for the helicopters to move. “___, how are you feeling?”

You shift in your seat, turning to be staring out of the helicopter’s open side as it lifts off the ground. Even with the noise of the blades, the microphone being inside your helmet means that they can hear you perfectly. “I’m okay. Nervous, but okay. I think I just want to get in, get it done and get home as soon as I can.”

Lucian nods. “You’ll be back soon, and I’ll make sure that you don’t go on something this big again after it, for a long time. Just make it through today.”

“Will do.” You pause for a few seconds. “So, the intel said they’ve just got basic arms?”

“Yes. Assault rifles, pistols, shotguns, perhaps explosives. Nothing else has been indicated by the people we have on the inside, or picked up by our reconnaissance.” Lucian responds, crossing his arms where he stands. You sigh quietly.

“That’s good. There’ll be less damage to our side then, at least.” You murmur. Lucian nods mutely. You suddenly laugh to yourself, musing, “I wonder what the boys are doing right now. Did you say earlier that mum’s allowed to watch what happens because I’m underage?”

Lucian glances around the boys, then at your mother. She nods. He looks back to the screen. “Your mother is here, ___. She’s watching your body cam right now.” He hesitates, then asks, “Would you have wanted to talk to the boys if you could?”

You hum for a long few seconds, considering the idea. “Yeah. I sort of wouldn’t want them to see this, because it’s probably going to be gruesome, but at the same time I think they’d _want_ to see what’s going on. They’re nosy like that.” That receives several glares from the boys, but you swiftly laugh again, chuckling out, “No, they’re not nosy. They care and worry, and that’s okay.”

Lucian blinks slowly, stares at the boys for a fleeting heartbeat, does the same with your mother, then states bluntly, “Well, wish granted. They’re here as well, as family.”

You stiffen. They hear you catch your breath, seeming to struggle to speak for a passing second.

“Now?” You choke out. “They’re watching right now, with mum?”

“Yep.” Lucian answers. It takes you a moment to respond.

“T-They can see me? And hear me?” He hums, confirming your words. You don’t speak for another few seconds. “So, they did actually want to watch?”

“Yes.” His answer renders you silent for a long, few seconds.

And then, all of a sudden, you release an almost relieved sigh.

“What the hell… I thought I’d be upset that they’re here, but somehow it’s nice. It’s comforting, in a way, even though I don’t want them to see this.” You shake your head. “Hi, guys.”

Louis is close to crying again.

_I almost don’t want to be watching this, but I couldn’t leave if I tried._

“___, you’re coming up on Dregea now. Get ready.” Lucian commands, straightening up. You shift in your seat, checking your gun over, before leaning toward the side of the helicopter.

The makeshift borders of Dregea can be seen below you, clear as day, making a ring of somehow oppressive light around the district. The tall buildings are barely visible, since the sun has already dipped below the horizon and the night-time is well under-way. It’s almost eerily quiet down there, even with the roaring of the choppers. You can be heard swallowing.

“Lucian, it’s too quiet.” You murmur. He frowns, back muscles tensing.

“I know.”

_“All teams, prepare to land at your marked destinations and begin breach in T-minus one minute. Do not open fire first; only let bullets loose if you’re shot at. Breach and clear, do not harm any civilians. We want as little damage as possible. Limit the use of explosive devices.”_

The Level Five agent overseeing this whole operation speaks through your headset in your helmet. The agent opposite you, not wearing a hook, stands up, letting out a confident, almost maniacal laugh.

“Yes, people. Let’s do this.” She cheers, holding onto the top of the helicopter and leaning out of it. The boys all cringe back or wince, seeing her so unbearably close to falling yet so uncaring of the risk.

Your body suddenly jerks forward, hand flying out to grip the back of your chair. The boys, your mother, and Lucian all freeze, watching you peer outside, at the buildings, with intense concentration. They try to see what you see, but there’s nothing there.

“A…” You breathe out, trailing off. There’s movement now, atop the buildings, they see. On the roofs, there’s rapid, unexpected groups of people pouring out, seeming to uncover something large and black. Lights glare up from the things, and you gasp in horror, jerking back in your seat. “Anti-aircraft guns, on the roofs! They’ve got A-A guns, and they’re getting ready to use them! Dimitri!”

He all but flies over to your side, leaning out to have a look. He goes still for a brief second, then darts through to the cockpit, screaming, “There’s A-A guns on the rooftops! Call off the mission, now! We’re not prepared to handle-”

There’s a thunderous, deep, echoing boom from below. A flash of light erupts from one of the rooftops.

And bullets suddenly fire from it, followed by three others, all at once.

There are screams from the other agents in your helicopter, filling the boys with deep, penetrating fear. They all watch in horror as, across from your helicopter, the colossal bullets rip right through the frame, then through the wings, tearing three off in a second flat. The helicopter plunges forward, tipping down, before plummeting toward one of the buildings. You scream in horror.

The agents inside it clinging on for dear life have no chance. It collides with the side of the building, bursting into flame, before crashing to the ground below.

Louis can’t move. He can’t even breathe.

_What is this hell…_

A violent, shrieking sound screeches through your helicopter, and then the floor is shredded open, a bullet passing right through it. You fly back in your chair as it hits one of the other agents, sending him to the floor with a hole in his chest. His body slides to the edge, before Dimitri or the closer agent can stop it. It slips over the side, hooked to the helicopter. You wail, seeing the tug of the rope as the body drops.

Everything from then on happens in a chaotic, horrific blur.

Your helicopter is struck by more bullets, and when you hear the explosion from the tail, you know it’s been ripped off. The chopper descends into an uncontrollable, sickening descent, spinning rapidly. Alarms blare through it, Dimitri and the two other agents screaming. You cling onto your seat with dear life, gravity trying with all its might to drag you off.

It’s at this point that the agent who didn’t wear her hook lets out a terrified, animalistic scream. The chopper jerks, and she’s thrown straight out of the side, plummeting to the ground.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die, and they’re all going to see it.

“___!” Dimitri roars, grabbing hold of your neck from behind. He uses the railing next to your chair, launching himself over you, and before you know it, he’s ripped your arms away from your chair and shoved them through what you realise is a parachute backpack. You clip it on as fast as you can, turning to see him with one on as well. The other agent is trying, but he can’t get it on. Dimitri swings himself over, gripping the rail tightly to help him.

The helicopter is nearing the buildings. You’re going to crash.

Just as you think this, there’s a massive explosion on the other side of the helicopter. You’re blasted to the side with the force, torn away from the seat from the impact. Before you can process it, you’re thrown out of the side of the chopper.

You barely have time to register that, if you let yourself fall, the impact from the rope pulling taught will snap your spine.

The other gasp, shout and scream in horror as you’re lashed out of the plane. Your body cam almost misses you wrapping your arm and leg around the rope, swinging your body half-upright when it jerks straight. You cry out in pain, feeling the rope constricting your leg, before you yank it free.

The helicopter is still spinning. Now, it’s nearing a building; you’re going to be crushed.

“Let go, ___!” Lucian roars into his microphone, slamming his hands onto the table. The sheer panic, mortification and horror on his face is terrifying. “Let go of the rope! Unhook yourself! Fall, now! Do it!”

The furious orders cut through your fear. You jerk the clip, pressing the release. Forcing the crippling thought of letting yourself fall freely, you unclip yourself.

You’re released from the helicopter, and gravity immediately drags you down. Your limbs flail and lash about with the wind, but the others can see you reaching for something. You scream, desperate and terrified. Your body turns upwards.

Someone jumps from the helicopter mere seconds before it collides with the building’s roof, tearing in half and exploding.

At the same time, you find the catch.

Your parachute opens instantly, jerking your body as your fall slows. You gasp, manoeuvring your body with your legs. You need to land somewhere, but you can’t risk navigating through the buildings, so close and packed together. Your eyes hone in on the roof to your left, which doesn’t have an A-A gun nor any soldiers on it. You immediately yank yourself and your parachute to the side, using your legs to control your descent.

A bullet flies past your face. They’re shooting at you.

Your own rifle is long-gone now, so you’ll just have to hope like hell that they won’t manage to hit you before you can defend yourself. The roof is close now, and you’re going to make it.

“Good girl, ___. Don’t try to land on your feet; roll. Let the momentum wind down, or you’ll hurt yourself.” Lucian rattle out orders in your ear, trying to calm himself and keep a cool head so that at least one of you has one. You manage to pant out a response, tucking your legs into your chest.

“You’ve been taught the PLF, ___. You don’t have much experience with actual descents, but you can do it. The roof has a high-enough wall that it’ll stop you even if you roll upon landing. Use your front-right side. Remember, protect your face and neck, legs up, chin in. You’re using the risers well; maker you’ve got the right angle to land on the roof directly.”

“Got it.” Your voice trembles, but you do as he says, angling the risers on the parachute properly, to make sure you’re making as little mistakes as possible in your landing. You haven’t had nearly enough time to get ready for the landing, but you have no choice.

The roof is close now. You bring your body into position, knowing you’re definitely going to hit your target, and that it’s going to hurt like hell. The front-right side of your body is ready to take the impact of the fall.

As soon as your bum and hip touch the floor, your stiff body is sent rolling, skidding painfully across the Tarmac. You realise that the rest of the parachute is going to drape over the edge of the building while you’re rolling, and you struggle to throw it off, practically ripping the clips and clasps open, yelling with pain and panic all the while.

You’re nearing the edge of the roof when you manage to slide your arms out, despite the odds and the position of your body, and you launch it off you as soon as you’re on your back. It flies over you, and you slam into the concrete wall with a loud thud.

You collapse against the floor, gasping for breath, winded, ears ringing, throat closing up and head spinning. Your laboured, panicked breaths are all you can hear, amidst the distant explosions and gunfire. You can’t move.

But Lucian knows you have to. The boys, and your mother, know that too.

“___!” Lucian snaps. “Get up! They’ll have seen you land, and they might come after you! Get off the roof! Now!”

“___! Please, baby, get up! You need to move! You need to get out, honey!” Your mother screams.

You hear her voice. It’s quiet, but it’s there.

_I need to move._

Your vision tips, but you manage to sit up, shakily raising yourself on your hands and knees. There’s a door on the rooftop, probably to allow people to move up to the room from the top floor. You can’t see a lock on it.

Lucian has been typing away at his computer furiously, but now he heaves out a breath, telling you urgently, “It looks like they’re remaining on the roof for the most part. The buildings in this area are mostly dilapidated and unused, so it’s likely that the door will be unlocked. They’re probably in them so that they can cause all the damage they want and make them their own. Get inside, ___, right now. Do it.”

The commanding voice pierces through your haze. You nod. “Understood.”

Forcing yourself to your feet, you stumble over to the door, grasping the rusty handle and pressing down on it. It creaks and shifts slightly, protesting against your force, but you keep going. You put all your weight onto it, and it snaps open, letting you shove the door open with your shoulder. You swing yourself inside, shutting it behind you.

Everything, the last two minutes, hits you hard. You collapse against the door heavily, body aching and in turmoil.

_Those agents… Dimitri… the others in that helicopter… they’re all probably dead._

Loss slams into you like a freight train. You tremble against the metal, barely able to stand.

Lucian has been all but hissing into his microphone now, spitting out order after order, but no one has been listening. All of them are watching you, unable to move or speak or do anything else. You reach behind you, feeling the pistol strapped into your belt thankfully still there. Thanking your stars and every power in existence, you pull it out, turn the safety off, then retrieve your knife from your front loop.

_They’re probably coming for me. I need to move._

You launch yourself forward. You’re in a narrow staircase, a winding one, so you nimbly descend it, taking it step by step. Your pistol is raised, the knife ready underneath it and hand steadying the gun. You’re absolutely ready, completely willing and primed, to fire at anything that moves.

“___, Dimitri is alive. He’s on the ground, and I’m sending him your location. He’s going to try and find you. He should arrive at the building in the next few minutes, and he’s going to clear out as many people as he can while he does. Keep moving down.”

Your heart floods with relief, even despite being so heavy with grief. You reach the end of the staircase, coming to what looks like an abandoned office. There’s another set of stairs at the opposite end of the room, and you sprint over, trying to keep your footsteps light. Going down again, you keep your pistol ready, but no one comes. You’re so on-edge, so ready to fight and shoot, that it’s actually worse when you descend another seven floors in three minutes flat, not a soul to be seen.

You finally reach the bottom floor. The gunfire hasn’t ceased in the slightest, the A-A guns still firing relentlessly; they must have been unable to hit some of the helicopters. The abandoned reception is almost pitch black, but you can see the doors maybe fifteen foot ahead of you. Hope ignites in you like fire.

You’ve just started to move toward the doors when an arm locks around both of yours. Another hand slams against your mouth, muffling the shriek you release.

“It’s Dimitri! Calm down! Stop making noise, ___! It’s him!” Lucian snaps, voice commanding once more. You still, head whipping around. The familiar armour and unmistakeable tag on his chest identifying him make you sag against him, trembling like a leaf. He releases your mouth, then grips your arm and tugs you backward, away from the doors.

“There are back doors through here. Our way out of the district is closer and safer through here.” He murmurs, voice low. You nod, swallowing back your shock, before you follow him through the door.

Outside is an alleyway, obviously unused, from the rotting wood, garbage and furniture. Dimitri lets go of your hand to take his pistol out, then his knife. Both of you keep them raised as you make your way through the alley at a run, sprinting your way to the end. He navigates efficiently and easily, seemingly having knowledge of the area.

“I used to live in Dregea.” He mumbles, gesturing to a slip-road to the right. “This way. I know a shortcut out of the district, through the forest.”

You nod. You recall him mentioning Dregea a while ago. “Okay. Lead the way.”

It’s silent as you sprint through the streets now, the A-A guns having ceased their fire, but the occasional gunshot rings through the night, shattering the quiet. The rest of the district looks just as run-down and deserted, and you wonder if it was always like this, or if it’s because of the rebels that it’s so badly kept.

“Dimitri,” Your thoughts lead you to an unsettling conclusion. “Where are all the civilians? Has Dregea always been like this, or…”

He ushers you through another alleyway, then out to a yard, which is connected to a ring of trees and vegetation. He sprints over, taking you into the forest with urgent speed. “The civilians, from what we’ve been able to see in the past ten minutes or so, have all gathered in safe places like schools and gyms, or the council halls. They seem to have been given warning about the attack, somehow, but I’m not really surprised.”

That shocks you. You blink, leaping over trees and roots, through branches and around bushes. “Why?”

He scoffs. “___, they had A-A guns. You don’t just get them from the casual weapons shop. They must have known we were coming, and so must have had intel from inside the ICAC. They knew about our attack. Someone betrayed us, ___, and that’s why people have just died. We never stood a chance. They’ve been planning this for a long time, and I imagine this will escalate now. The military will get involved, and will raze the district until every last rebel is dead at their feet.”

Your blood runs cold.

_Someone betrayed us. Someone gave information out. Someone broke their oath._

You’re still processing this when a dark, shadowy body lunges out from behind a tree to your left. They move so fast, you’ve only just turned to face them when the hilt of a gun slams into your helmet.

The shock transfers through, into your skull, and the sheer power in it sends you to the ground. You crumple to the floor hard, nausea churning in your stomach, skull blistering with pain. You hear a grunt, then screaming, before the sound of metal on armour. Dimitri collapses next to you, falling to the ground with a stunned, agonised gasp.

_They found us. The rebels found us. We’re going to die._

The boys aren’t breathing.

But then, Lucian screams through the microphone, roaring, “Weapons down! Unit 3, lower your weapons right now! They’re ours; touch them again and I’ll dismiss you all this second!”

There’s confused shouts around you. You can hardly breathe will the stress your body has suffered with. All of a sudden, your helmet is gripped at the back, then ripped off completely. The boys don’t see it, but you’re shoved back, onto the floor supine, while an armoured ICAC agent hovers over you with an assault rifle pointed at your face. You raise your hands in surrender, and he falters, then stumbles back, lowering his gun.

“S-Shit. That’s-” Lucian barks at him your name through the microphone, apparently now using the universal ICAC frequency. The agent trembles slightly. “I- I didn’t know! I thought she was one of them! I didn’t realise! I’m sorry, Sir!”

Lucian scowls, furious and beyond forgiveness. “I don’t give a shit. I told you it was her. Now, do me a favour and make sure she’s not concussed, because if she is, so help me God, I will have you stripped of every title, authority, weapon and privilege you have and will personally beat you to death myself.”

The agent immediately puts his gun down, then drops to his knees beside you. More agents pour through the trees, and Dimitri drags his own helmet off, gasping for breath. The one who hit you both helps you to sit up, then checks that you’re with him before standing you up. He and another agent help you to make your way through the trees, until you finally reach a collection of ICAC trucks, heavily armoured and with mounted turrets on top. Dimitri is brought with you, and you’re both secured inside one of them before several of the agents get in, driving with you.

“We’re going back to base, right?” Dimitri pants out, blood now running down his face from the impact of the hit against his head. You can feel blood on yours, as well, because of how hard he whacked you, and your head is pounding, sight blurring and shifting every few seconds.

“Yes. We should arrive in twenty minutes.” The agent driving answers. Dimitri releases a ragged breath, shuffling closer to you.

“Good,” He grumbles, laying down with his head in your lap. “Twenty minutes is long enough. I’m going to damn sleep, and if anyone wakes me up, I’m going to kill you all.”

No one objects.

**♡♔♡**

A national emergency is declared within three hours of the job. You’re brought straight home, to the ICAC headquarters, and immediately taken into the infirmary to be looked over and treated.

You soon find out that, along with yourself and Dimitri, only five agents made it out alive. The three who managed to get out on their own soon died afterward from their injuries. That deeply, violently frightens you, numbing you instantly when you’re told.

The boys, your mother and Lucian wait outside anxiously. The fear, devastation, hopelessness, worry and loss they felt throughout the incident has left them all shaken, almost unable to feel anything as a result of such intense, crippling emotion.

After thirty minutes, the door opens. The doctor steps out, giving the group a comforting smile.

“She’s fine, albeit very, very, very lucky. She’s got a gash on her head from being struck by the agent who thought she was a rebel, she’s a bit bruised up and has some bruising on her bones, but she’ll be alright. She’s not quite concussed, although she was when she first came in. She’s just tired, but after a good night’s rest and some food, she should be fine. She’ll likely have trouble adjusting, considering everything she saw, but with support, she’ll get through it.”

She rattles out her diagnosis in a long, uninterrupted rush, before she then moves out of the way and gestures inside. “You can go in. She’s eager to see you all.”

Louis practically runs inside, shoving his way through the others. He needs to see you for himself.

You’re on an infirmary bed, sat upright, in a pair of black leggings and a black vest. You’ve got stitches on your forehead, and some bruising on your cheekbone, as well as your arms. He can’t see the rest – yet – but he somehow thinks that’s a good thing. Dimitri is perched beside you, a long gash, now stitched, running across his own forehead, and he has bruising along his jaw. In a black shirt and black trousers, his arms are littered with bruises, as well as a bandage around his bicep.

You and Dimitri both look up when he bursts into the room. As soon as you see him, your expression collapses with relief. “Louis.”

He sprints over to you, all but crushing you in his arms. He only lasts two seconds before the tears fall, and they come in streams, relentless and unkind.

You let him grip you, despite the pain aching through your ribs from where his arms are touching your bruises. You anchor your own arms around his neck, grasping him so, so hard, making him realise that you’re there and you’re safe. You hush him, stroking his hair and whispering sweet nothings in an attempt to gentle the violent, awful, wracking sobs ripping through his frail form.

He slumps down onto the bed to your side, burying his face in your shoulder. He doesn’t care that he’s crying into your skin. He doesn’t give a damn that your whole upper chest, arms and shoulders are exposed and that his lips are touching your collarbone.

He just wants to hold you. His heart can’t bear anything less.

_She’s alive. She’s here. She’s okay. Hurt, but living. She’s in my arms. I didn’t lose her, even though I came so close to it. We still have our ___... our princess._

You cradle Louis against you while he cries. The others come in, including your mother and Lucian, but they all seem to understand how much Louis is in need of you right now. Your mother comes over hugs your head, kissing your forehead, cheeks and nose, before she whispers around Louis’ sobs, “No more of this, ___. You barely made it out of there alive. Don’t put me through that again.”

“I know.” You gaze up at your mother’s own tears, and you nod without the slightest hesitation. “No more. I’m not doing anything like this again.”

She sighs shakily, wiping away her own tears. One by one, the boys come over, hugging and kissing your face or hands around Louis. They murmur chiding words or weak teasing ones, grateful praises to the heavens or to some degree spiteful insults, but they’re all obviously relieved to death to have you close again. You whisper back and squeeze their hands, or stroke their hair or faces, giving them the comfort you can while you keep Louis in your arms.

You’re all staying in the compound overnight, until the incident is well and truly reported and publicised, so you go up to the Temporary Member and Family Accommodations – usually abbreviated as TMFA by the agents – with them all, Lucian tagging along as well.

Once you’re up there, you spend a good twenty minutes hugging everyone, letting them all crush you in their arms and embrace both you physically, but also the fact that you’re alive. Lucian quietly apologies for what you’ve been through, but you silence him after ten words, dismissing the apology.

There’s nothing he has any right to be sorry for. He wasn’t the one who betrayed the ICAC.

The building operates like a hotel, and so each room has a set number of bedrooms. Your group being large, with eleven people, is allowed to have the largest room in there, with three bedrooms containing four beds. Despite them all wanting to be near you considering how close they came to losing you, it’s decided that Albert, Byron, Nico and Robert will have one room, Alyn, Giles, Leo and Sid will be in another, and then that you, your mother and Louis will fill the last one.

By the time you’ve gotten ready for bed in one of the two bathrooms, it’s well past midnight and you’re ready to keel over. You pad into the bedroom, where your mother is already in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Louis goes to get ready himself, and it’s at this point that she gives you a gentle smile.

“___,” She breathes out. “If you want to let Louis sleep in your bed, I don’t mind. He’s struggling, and has been all week, so much. He needs you more than anything, and more than any of us, right now. If it will help him, you can do it. I trust you.”

Your heart swells at her deep, unfaltering trust and understanding. You smile back, going over to hug her tightly. “Thank you. It’ll really help him.”

She lets you go, lying back. “I know it will.” You wander over to your bed, plopping down onto it before wincing at your aching body. She shakes her head, sighing. “Goodnight, sweetie.”

“Goodnight, mum. Sleep well.” She grins, then turns over, getting comfy.

Louis comes in not too long later, dressed in a pale blue shirt and black trousers, heart aching at the prospect of sleeping on his own when you’re in the same room as him.

So, when you give him a gentle, tender smile and pat the mattress under you, his heart soars with hope. “If you want, you can sleep here. I don’t mind; if it’ll help, you can. Mum said it’s okay.”

He wants to hesitate, but he physically can’t. He’s drifting toward your bed the second you speak the words. “You definitely don’t mind?”

You shake your head, shuffling over to one side of the bed. “No, not at all. To be honest, considering what just happened four-odd hours ago, I doubt I’m going to be able to sleep much at all. I might have more of a chance if I’ve got someone close to me, and if not, I can still help with your sleep.”

_She doesn’t mind. It’s okay. I can stay with her._

He slips under the cover, eyes downcast. “Thank you.” You lie down next to him, and he does the same, facing you. Your eyes drift closed, and then you sigh, opening them again. You gaze at him for a second before reaching back to turn the light off, plunging the room into darkness.

Somehow, that makes him more nervous, whilst simultaneously more excited.

His hand seeks out yours, finding it warm and soft under the cover. Your fingers slip through his, sending skitters of electricity sparking up his arm. His heart thuds faster, flesh becoming heated in a way that’s strangely pleasant. Your thumb brushes over his, touch feathery and loving and careful, just like you always are. He shifts closer, wanting more, needing the contact with you.

You’ve always been too good at reading him.

“Come here. It’s okay.” Your uttered words of comfort are all he needs.

He shuffles over, and your hand releases his, instead reaching around his back to pull him into the circle of your arms. With trembling breaths and shaking fingers, he manoeuvres himself to be almost pressed against you, curling an arm around your waist. You embrace his head, bringing it against your shoulder, while your other arm remains under your pillow. He slips his other underneath you, using it to hold onto your side.

He won’t cry, he decides. He’ll not cry, because he’ll make himself strong by being in your arms.

You stroke his hair, fingers brushing through the strands delicately, with a sensitive, tender gentleness that’s all and only yours. It’s normal, to you, both the touch and the act of doing this. You’ve seen it so much in the ICAC, as well, not to mention amongst other friend groups you’ve seen. People sleep in the same beds all the time. People cuddle their friends for no apparent reason. People cuddle, then sleep in the same bed as people they’re not with, just because it makes them feel safe.

_Humans are social creatures. We crave contact by nature. To crave the touch of another is natural and adaptive, not something to be ashamed of. Being able to do this with all of the guys isn’t wrong. It’s human, to provide support to others. Just because it’s often physical doesn’t make it any different than if I solely provide them with mental or emotional comfort. It’s support, at the end of the day. That’s it._

The repetitive, constant motions of your fingers are lulling him into sleep. Your warm breaths against his head soothe him. The steady rise and fall of your chest with each breath relaxes him. Most importantly, the strong, sure beating of your heart keeps him calm, keeps him anchored to the ground in a world that’s done nothing but throw him around and mess with his emotions.

He wants to talk. God, he wants to spend hours talking to you, to both listen and speak, but he’s so tired. He’s absolutely shattered, run-down and ready to collapse under the stress and strain he’s suffering with. But he just can’t talk, not tonight. He doesn’t have the energy.

“Sleep, Louis.”

Your whisper seals his fate for the night. He succumbs to the dark, unable to cling on any longer.

This time, though, that’s fine. He’s with you, and even if his guilty truth is still a secret, he can sleep in the knowledge that you’re there for him. You’re alive and well, your time is his, and his is yours.

That’s all he can possibly ask for.

**♡♔♡**


	10. Part X | Robert | Forgiveness - 1st December 2015 | 17 | College Year 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.
> 
> They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.
> 
> “We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”
> 
> So, why did things change, and how?
> 
> Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.

**♡♔♡**

Since the beginning, Robert has always been there.

He’s always been the quiet, reserved, somewhat withdrawn one. He’s kept himself at a comfortable distance, content to just watch the world around him and bask in its beauty. Since he was young, he’d be caught up in drawing, in painting and chalking and all the other arts. He’s become a master of occupying himself, meaning that, all these years, it’s become normal for him to fade into the shadows of the others. The more outspoken of the group, Leo, Nico and Sid, have always had the spotlight, have always been the ones at the centre of attention.

And that was okay, for a long time. Not so much now.

Even as self-sufficient as he is, he’s human. He’s wanted love, to be noticed, to be given affection. He’s desired someone to notice and appreciate him, because it’s never been a constant in his life. It’s a rarity. His mother and father, the Grand Duke and Duchess of Bergenia, were always so occupied with maintaining the several duchies they had in his country of birth that they didn’t have much left for him.

Growing up in a manor in Bergenia for his early childhood, almost entirely alone while they worked in the palace with government officials and occasionally the monarchy, he learned that loneliness was a part of life. He got used to it, even though it hurt. He taught himself to dismiss the aching for contact and socialisation, instead throwing himself into the arts, his only way to express his agony to the world. His drawings told tales of his loneliness and desperation.

It’s a shame. No one got to see them, and then they were burned when he turned seventeen.

Throughout his life, Robert has been moved and drifted between Bergenia and Wysteria for the sake of his own safety, health and education.

Despite naturally having the responsibility of taking over the position of Grand Duke of his parents’ duties once both of them either stepped down or passed away, they insisted that he be allowed to have a separate, calm, stable life in Wysteria, to focus on his studies and personal life, as opposed to the chaos ensuing, boiling and churning, at home. In a way, he hated that they forced him into it and deprived him of a choice, but he’s also grateful. He would spend most of his time in Wysteria, only returning to Bergenia when his parents allowed him to, either during holidays when the civil uproar had lulled slightly or it was an important occasion.

He stayed in the dorms of the academy, of course. They would never object, when his parents were at such constant, permanent risk in Bergenia and were working so hard to give him the life he deserved.

It all amounted to very little, in the end, he feels.

Bergenia’s history is a long, sorrowful tale of annexation, betrayal, corruption and mutiny. It has, for millennia, been ravaged by war and been the grounds of conflict, even when it hasn’t been involved in it. The monarchs of Bergenia have always been fair, kind people, with genuine hearts and pure intentions. However, the nobility has forever been a thorn in its side, the blade in its back that has sent it to its knees time and time again.

This hasn’t changed, even now. Bergenia has never been able to escape from its winding, repetitive spiral of collapse and failure. After so many civil wars, and the rapid development of the surrounding nations like Stein and Wysteria, it was expected that Bergenia would follow.

It did not.

The fall and dissolution of Bergenia comes about after a long, long time, by decision of the countries around it. After the many districts erupt in violent, bloody riots and revolts, anarchy ravaging its poor citizens once more, all the systems that had barely survived the last century finally crumble under the pressure. The monarchs can’t keep control, and their reign crumbles under them like sand through an egg timer.

The Grand Duke and Duchess try, and they truly try so hard, to maintain order for the sake of their monarchs. They attempt to bring about calm and peace, negotiations or truces or just _something_ , to put an end to the madness and carnage consuming their beloved country.

Their attempts do nothing. They are merely hands beating at the chest of a beast, one that has been slumbering and festering hatred, waiting for the perfect time to finally bare its teeth and deliver the final blow. The final blow, to a nation that has already suffered too many wounds, too often, in too little time.

The duchies fall into chaos. People, many, _many_ people, lose their lives. Innocents are killed. Lives are ruined. Families are crushed or ripped apart or destroyed entirely. Forty percent of the population is massacred in the bloodiest, most devastating clashes seen in a civil war in the continent, and the rest, the ones wishing for no part in the horror, flee to the surrounding countries with little to nothing. Bergenia falls, burns, smoulders, and then fades away to little more than ash, in what would be known from then on as a barbaric slaughter of a country that has no place in the modern world.

Robert’s parents don’t escape. They are murdered in the palace, defending the last lines of their monarchs, by their own people. They don’t stand a chance.

When news arrives of the uprising, Robert immediately rushes from Wysteria to Bergenia, arriving at the border in a private car. When he stumbles out, the car unable to proceed any further, he screams with horror.

Bergenia is on fire. It’s consumed by it.

The militaries of Stein and Wysteria are already there, with a handful of Bergenian soldiers. They yell at people fleeing to get out, to escape and leave everything behind, because the whole nation is crumbling. When Robert tries to get past them, to go and do what he can to help, they stop him. They shove him away, screaming to leave, that there’s nothing left to salvage and that it’s too late to save anyone.

Bullets fly through the trees lining the border. Gunshots ring through the air. Robert stands and stared, gazing up in blurred, enraged terror, as his home falls apart before him.

It isn’t long before his family’s butler and housekeeper emerges from Bergenia in a car, locating him swiftly. He refuses to answer Robert’s desperate questions about his parents, dragging him away from his home and to the car before the flames of war are too thick to escape through. Robert is tortured by his mind, wanting to return to his parents and his home. He can only watch through the window of the car as he is driven to safety, while his country is left behind, razed by an inescapable fate.

Brought to Wysteria, he is returned to the dorm by his butler. The latter will not speak, will not answer, for a long time. He forces Robert to remain in the academy, watching the blaze on the TV by his own choice, while he brings to Robert everything he was able to salvage from the house before it was overrun by rebels.

Finally, he repeats the orders Robert’s parents have given him.

To save Robert.

To keep him away from Bergenia.

To leave them behind.

To instruct Robert, from them, to abandon his responsibilities and live his life how he should have been free to from the start. To abandon his heritage and lineage, and their mistakes.

To start again.

**♡♔♡**

He’s in his dorm. He hasn’t moved in hours.

It’s been twelve hours since Bergenia had its last, and worst, collapse. The country is in ruins, the aftermath of civil war rendering it nothing more than a charred, dystopian city, devoured by death and loss. It’s been cut off from the continent by the surviving military, as well as that of the supporting nations. No one will enter it, not now, and not for a long time.

His butler has left, grief-stricken and with little else to do than return to his family, waiting for him in Stein. Robert lets him go wordlessly when he asks, eyes hollow and dull, staring lifelessly at the wall of his dorm room. He’s on the floor, sat back against his bed, elbows on knees and frame trembling like a leaf. He’s stuck, trapped in a bitter, endless cycle of self-loathing, rage, grief, devastation and hopelessness.

It’s his fault.

All his life, he’s monitored the situation in Bergenia from a distance. Most of the time, he’s been in Wysteria while the disputes, conflicts and social crises have been arising. Every time something happened, he’d call his parents, asking them if they were alright and what was going on. Every time, they’d dismiss it, telling him not to worry and that they’re sorting it out. Every time, he’d tell them to be careful and to not push themselves too hard.

And every time, afterward, he’d do nothing more.

There’d be no follow-up. He wouldn’t go there himself. Despite him being told by them explicitly not to come to Bergenia unless it’s an emergency, he’s had the autonomy for a long time to have been able to go back. So many times, on so many occasions, he could have returned. A call for a private car, a three-hour drive. That’s all it would have taken. He had more than enough opportunities, in holidays and on weekends, to go back. He could have gotten involved. He had every chance to understand what was going on fully and do what was possible to stop this from happening. He had chances to save Bergenia, but he wasted them. He was so caught up in his own life that he completely forgot about his dying home.

Now, he’s got nothing. His parents are dead. His family has been eradicated apart from him. His home is nothing but a pile of ashes, and his home country is little more than a site of utter devastation. He has no one to return to and no one to support him.

He’s more alone now than he ever has been, but this time, it’s completely and utterly his fault.

He hasn’t cried yet. No, he’s not cried, because it’s not something he does when he’s sad. For years, if he’s been upset, he’s simply worked his way through the problem or issue logically, until it has disappeared or been solved. Instead, he just sits there, consumed by the deep, gripping, sickening guilt, loss and loneliness swallowing him from the inside out. He’s never been so miserable, and he’s never felt so ready to die.

The group has been trying to track him down for it, of course. As soon as you hear about the collapse in the morning when you wake up, you’re immediately bolting out of your house, calling Sid to let him know, and to tell him that you’re heading straight to Robert’s dorm. He meets up with you down the road from where your houses are, all but sprinting with you to Louis’ house, then on to the academy. You’ve got college in less than an hour, but you need to see him. You need to make sure he’s okay.

You call and message him relentlessly. His phone, beside him on the floor, vibrates incessantly, but he can’t bring himself to answer. He just sits there lifelessly, dull, dead eyes gazing listlessly at the TV. The live feed of the city, now able to be seen in complete ruin with the daytime, only adds to his grief and horror. He feels cold, lost and hollow. He hates himself. He hates everything that he is and blames himself for what’s happened.

By the time you, Sid and Louis arrive at the dorm building, you’re all panting, gasping for breath from running so far and so fast. Both you and Sid have all but dragged Louis along, he being slightly less physically inclined than the two of you, but you release him now to sprint up the stairs in the building. You bolt through the silent corridors, swinging yourself around corners and down hallways, until you arrive at his door. You almost collapse against it, inhaling sharply, before you choke out,

“Robert! Robert, are you in there? I’m sorry for coming up without any warning, but I needed to check that you were alright. Are you okay?”

____._

His already aching heart may as well start to bleed at the concern in your voice. Somehow, you being there just makes him feel worse.

_Leave. Don’t bother with me. Stop trying to comfort a monster like me._

“Robert?”

He clenches his fists.

“Oi, Robert, come on. Let us in, or at least ___. Let us know you’re alright, will ya?” Sid’s voice sounds through the door now, along with an impatient knock. His words are tough, but there’s feeling in his voice, almost hidden worry there as clear as day.

_None of you should care. Just leave._

“Robert,” You utter his name softly, quieter now. Of all the things, it’s this that makes his throat thicken and tears spring to his eyes. You care so much about him. “Please, just let me in. After all this time, are you really going to lock me out? After all these years? You can trust me, Robert. Let me help you. Don’t try to deal with this on your own.”

_Princess. You don’t understand. You could never understand what’s going on, what I’m feeling. You can’t help me, because you can’t change what I’ve done. Just forget me._

“Go to lesson, ___.” The words are delivered harshly, bluntly, so much so that you freeze in place. They strike your heart, burying deep like knives. “Just go. Leave me alone.”

He’s never said something so unkind to you in his whole life, and it’s agony for him to do it. He doesn’t want to.

No. Right now, he’s entirely the opposite; he wants you with him. He wants your comfort, your affection and unconditional love. He wants your gentle voice and soothing touch, your tender gaze and whispered words. He’s craving it, more than ever before, and not having it feels like the slow burn of Bergenia’s flames consuming him from the inside out.

You’re silent for a long, few moments. Louis, seeing your devastated, clearly hurt expression, slips his fingers through yours, and Sid rests his hand on the small of your back, scowling at the door. “Let’s go, ___. He’s not interested.”

The pain in your chest, the sudden ache, worsens. You can’t find it in you to respond, and eventually, the two boys lead you away, murmuring soothing words of comfort to you. Regret settles heavily in your stomach, twisting and coiling inside like a ton weight.

You barely speak while you’re in college, and Robert spends those hours with his forehead against his arms, regretting every single syllable he’s said.

**♡♔♡**

Once the college day is over, you go straight to his dorm again.

The others go with you without hesitating, wanting to both be with you and there for Robert, as well. You assure them that it’s likely he won’t let you or any of them in, and so that they don’t have to be there, but they insist anyway.

Sighing softly, your hand comes to rest on the wooden door, and you drop your forehead against it. Your voice is tender when you speak. “Robert?” You exhale slowly, then shake your head. “If you think I’m going to leave you alone, you mustn’t know me at all. I’m not going. I’ll stay until you talk to me and let me help, because I know _you_ well enough that if you’re acting like this, something is hurting you more than you can cope with. I don’t care how much you tell me to leave; I’m stubborn, so I’m staying.”

Robert sighs heavily.

He’s had a shower to rid himself of the smell of smoke, but he hardly had the energy to dress properly, having gotten maybe two hours of sleep through the night. He was too grief-stricken to relax. His shirt remains unbuttoned, feet bare, and his hair has curled into soft ringlets at the ends from the water. He drags it back, away from his face.

He wishes you wouldn’t be so kind, wouldn’t be so beautiful. It makes it so much harder to say no.

_She’s always been so hard-headed. If it wasn’t so endearing, it would probably be unbearable at times._

He stays silent. You swallow thickly, having been waiting for a response. The others stare down at you, watching your fingers curl inward, before you exhale shakily. To all of them except Albert, it breaks their hearts, knowing you’re suffering. Leo gently rubs your arm, his other hand settling between your shoulder blades.

After a few moments, you sigh yourself, before turning around and taking your bag off. Setting it down next to you, you lean back against the door, then lower yourself to the ground, sitting there.

The boys watch, shocked. You’re literally going to sit there until he talks to you.

“___-” Alyn begins, taken aback by your actions. “You can’t just sit here. That’s ridiculous.”

Leo crouches next to you, rubbing your shoulder now instead. “Princess, I know you want to help him, but maybe he just needs time and space to grieve. He might just need to be on his own…”

He trails off when your eyes rise to his, filled with a muted, underlying smoulder that could sear through even the strongest composure. He blinks, confused and unsure of what to say, but you answer before any of them get the chance to ask why you suddenly look so upset. “Leo, how often do we help Robert with problems he has?”

Silence. Leo’s momentarily stunned. “You-”

“How often has he come to us for help? How often has he sought out advice or support from us? How many times has he confided in all of you? In all of us?” Your questions hit hard, and the realisation sets in quick. You draw your knees up to your chest, curling your arms around them. “How many times has he outright needed us? How many times has he broken down or admitted that he’s struggling, to any of us? How many of us know about the things he’s had to deal with over the years?”

Eight mouths part in complete shock. They’ve never realised it, never even thought about it. They’ve always, even if it wasn’t intentional, forgotten about their best friend. They’ve forgotten Robert for years and years, haven’t even noticed when he’s having a hard time. They’ve failed him.

You rub your face against your forearms, shaking your head. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to get him to open up to me and have checked that he’s okay whenever I was able to. I asked him to let me in and speak to me, but he said he didn’t need it. He said he could handle it all himself, even despite some of the things he was going through.”

Your fingers card through your hair roughly, gripping it hard enough for the boys to wince and shift closer in alarm. Leo gently removes them, instead cradling them in his own, but it does nothing to dampen your frustration. “Why? Why won’t he let me in? Why does he have to do everything himself? What did I do, to make him trust me so little?”

Observing your increasing distress, Leo sits next to you against the door, then tugs you into his side, wrapping an arm around your waist. He kisses your head, massaging your side and murmuring, “___, I don’t think there’s anyone else in the world he trusts more than you. I think the problem is that he’s always dealt with everything on his own, so he doesn’t know how to let others help him. He’s not used to it and probably doesn’t understand it.”

You bury your face in Leo’s throat, whispering, “But I can show him. I can make him understand and make him see that it’s okay. He just needs to let me in first.”

Robert sits against the door, on the other side. Inches away from you, but his heart a thousand miles away, he inhales softly, raggedly.

A tears drips down his cheek for the first time in over a decade.

_I want to let her in. I want her to help me. I want her to be with me. I want her to save me._

The others settle down as well, insisting on staying with you. You curl up against Leo, Nico sitting on your other side and resting his head in your lap. Your free hand drops down, stroking his pale hair soothingly.

And for a long time, you wait. You, and the boys, wait for Robert’s heart to finally unlock itself.

**♡♔♡**

It’s eight in the evening when he gathers the courage to face you.

He stands shakily, body weak and frail from not eating or sleeping. Every so often, he hears quiet conversation from you and the boys, confirming that you’re still there. He realises now that he’s just causing more and more trouble by keeping to himself; he’s wasting your time, and the others’ time and energy by hiding, so he may as well let you in.

Only you, though. His heart is not something he will bear to anyone willingly, but if anyone is going to see the darkness inside him, it’s you.

He takes hold of the handle, gripping it tightly. He swallows, clears his throat, then speaks. “___.”

You jerk up from your half-sleeping state in Leo’s arms, leant back against his chest, causing Nico to do the same from your lap. Your eyes fly up to the door, wide and hopeful for the first time today. You wait for him to carry on.

He needs to do this. He needs to stop fighting everything and everyone on his own. He has to allow himself to be seen, properly, at long last. Even if it’s just once.

“Come in. Only… only you.”

That’s enough. It’s more than enough. All of you are up in an instant, the boys groaning and complaining about being stiff from sitting on the floor for hours. You thought they’d leave eventually, but they didn’t, on the basis that they’ve failed Robert so much and owe him a lot. You nod to them all. “It’s okay; you can go. He only wants to see me, and I don’t want to push him. Go and get some rest, guys; thank you.”

Leo gives you a brief hug, sighing into your hair. “Thank _you_ , for making us realise that we were being complete asses.”

Sid drops a hand atop your head. “You going to be okay getting home?”

You detach yourself from Leo, nodding. “Yeah. I’ll just get a taxi if it’s too late to walk, I promise. I’ll be fine.” Giving them a small but genuine smile, you turn to the door, glancing behind you for a second. “See you guys tomorrow.”

There’s a collection of reciprocated goodbyes and departing words. You take hold of the handle, knocking with your other after grabbing your bag from the floor. “Robert?”

They guys watch on, all but Albert wanting nothing more than to stop you. It’s selfish, but the thought of you being alone with him, in his dorm room, makes their stomachs twist with unease.

Robert unlocks the door from the other side, forcing back his fear and apprehension. He opens it, hiding behind the wood so as to not be seen by the others in such a state, enough that you can slip in. You slide through the opening, and he shuts it behind you, leaning against it heavily before locking it.

He looks like hell. Exhausted, dark eyes, pale pallor, body lacking in strength. His shirt is open, exposing his torso to you.

No one else, not a single soul other than his family and you, has ever seen his chest before.

The long, thick, deep scar lining it is the reason why. You’ve seen it before, when he’s been sick in the past and you’ve been taking care of him, his shirt open enough for you to spot it. He explained to you how it happened, albeit reluctantly.

It was during a revolt in Bergenia while he was there a year ago, outside the palace; Robert had gone to be formally introduced to the monarchs, and was on his way out with his mother and father when they were attacked by anti-establishment protestors. Only one had a gun, and he was disarmed quickly, but the others had knives and swords. Robert’s father was about to be struck by one with a sword, but Robert jumped in front of him before he could, protecting the comparatively older and more susceptible man with his younger, stronger body.

You swallow hard, then drop your bag, approaching him tentatively. His eyes remain on you, deeply wounded and abnormally vulnerable. He’s hurting so much, it feels like something inside you dies upon seeing it. He never removes his gaze from you, like a dying animal watching its killer close in for the final blow.

“Robert,” You whisper, stopping maybe thirty centimetres from him. “Thank you for letting me in.”

His expression contorts with confliction, mind recoiling with confusion at your words. He thought you’d say sorry, or perhaps would give condolences for what’s happened, but apparently not. It seems you’re not taking that classic, stereotypical, useless route.

Seeing him feeling torn and unsure, for once uncertain and indecisive, you move forward again. Your eyes stay fixed on his, calm and cool and collected, yet still warm, loving and caring. They’re still your eyes. You haven’t changed, despite how he spoke to you and hurt you. He doesn’t understand it.

All of a sudden, you smile. It’s soft and angelic, tender and gentle and all the things that, right now, he’s desperate for. It baffles him further, just like your words do when you sigh out, “If you don’t button your shirt up and dry your hair, you’re going to get a cold.”

_Oh, my ___. My beautiful, impossible, wonderful princess._

Your hands reach for the bottom button and accompanying hole, doing it up with nimble, steady fingers. It’s such a simple thing to do, but it feels like his heart bleeds in response. It’s too kind, too loving, for someone like him. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s never deserved your love and care. He’s too selfish and thoughtless for it.

And yet, he can’t stop himself from needing it.

_I’m truly a despicable human._

His arms rise, coiling around your waist like an iron vice. Before you can move your hands from his abdomen, where they’ve been fastening the buttons, he’s tugged you flush against him. He embraces your waist with like a silent, final cry for help, admitting defeat to his emotions at long last.

His walls are coming down, and he’s well aware of it. The guards around his heart are finally giving in to all the beatings they’ve suffered over the years, from loneliness and being ignored and a lack of trust and a lack of love. He can’t hold it together anymore, but somehow, he doesn’t want to.

_The walls be damned. She can see my heart. It’s already hers._

The thought occurs so casually, so honest and true, that it shocks him to the core. Since when has his heart been yours?

This split-second of thought leads him to glance down at you. Over the surprise of being hugged so unexpectedly, you relax in his arms, muscles losing their tension. Your hands, half crushed against his bare abdomen, remain where they are, despite your cheeks flushing bright red from the contact. You drop your head against his upper chest, warmth radiating from you, almost bleeding out and into him.

_She’s so hot. It’s not like the fire Bergenia was consumed by, though. This heat is pleasant. It feels alive. It’s like it’s pouring into me, and for some reason, I like it._

He can feel your hands against his stomach. It makes his insides clench and tighten, flames rushing through his own body, blood boiling inside him.

_That’s a lie. I love it._

The two unrelated thoughts come together, and he comes to an oddly rational, unexpected realisation.

_I love her._

You’ve always been there for him, even when everyone else has forgotten him. You’ve always made sure that he’s alright, always actively included him in things and rushed to him if you’ve thought he’s needed help. You tried so hard, so much and so adamantly, to get into his heart, even though he never allowed it. He always kept you close, but at that respectful, perfectly balanced distance.

You were able to get as close to him as possible without truly seeing him, without getting to the inner sanctum of his mind that he never wanted anyone to see. By God, though, you’ve always tried your damnedest to get there.

It’s because of this that he realises how much he treasures you. The strange, brave, unbelievably strong young woman who brought together nine people. Nine people who, when they first met you, had little to nothing or no one to love and cherish. They were all broken in some way, all damaged or fractured by something, but you never cared. You took them and nurtured them, like antiques needing repairs, and fixed them piece by piece. He watched you do it with them all, one by one, counting them off in his head.

First, you fixed Sid. You made him trust the others, when prior to that point, he had never felt able to put his faith in anyone at all. You made him realise that the world was not always against him, and that you were, always, unconditionally, irrevocably, on his side.

Then, you fixed Giles. You showed him and made him believe that, despite him being sick, that didn’t define him. You made him understand how, even with his illness, he can still be and do anything and everything he wants to.

Leo came next. The poor thing, haunted by his own parents’ death, was on death row by the time you were able to fight your way through _his_ walls. You managed to break through the glass and settle his mind, finally ridded him of the consuming guilt and grief he’d weighed his heart down with for years.

Then came Alyn. You managed to earn his trust and loyalty at long last, proving to him that you are someone he can entrust with his life and happiness. You were able to strip away all that harsh, tough exterior and expose Alyn’s real self, the kinder, calmer, happier one, who will trust and laugh and smile around others.

Byron was next, and you had to sacrifice your own happiness, your own _health_ , for him. You showed him, in the most basic, human way, what it means to love and be compassionate, to care about family. You were able to make him comprehend the, arguably, most difficult concept a human will ever be faced with.

Then came Nico. His process was gradual and slow, a path, as opposed to a sudden realisation, that he was worth more than just a soldier for Byron, that he deserved his own life, autonomy and freedom. You showed him the world in a way he’d never experienced before, with fun and friendship and joy like never before.

Louis was by far the easiest to see changing. With defences akin to his own, it took you a long time, a lot of hard work and patience, to be able to smash through the ice he’d surrounded his heart in. Robert always thought that Louis would never be able to show his emotions to them all, since he thought he was similar to Robert himself, but you proved that wrong when you finally made him break down before them, crying and sobbing to you after coming so close to death.

Even Albert has changed. The robotic, unfeeling, monotonous soldier has flourished with time, allowing bits and pieces of his personality to be discovered by them one by one. They’ve all seen him mature and develop, managing to shed some of his timid tendencies and become more comfortable, finally allowing himself to be at ease around them all.

You’ve always been there. You’ve been the constant in all their lives for years, regardless of how hard or dismal the situation has been. Your strength, in many ways, has always outmatched theirs, and it’s that that has brought them so far.

_I love you. I love you so much._

He’s broken his promise, awful as it is. In a day, he’s hurt you, and broken the most important oath he’s ever made in his life. He’s a truly terrible human.

All of this is processed in the course of a few, long seconds, and when his mind goes silent, it’s his heart that finally starts to scream.

His throat tightens, and he grips you harder, holding onto your sides with an almost painful force. You blink, feeling him crush his lips against your hair, chest now rising and falling erratically with his jagged breaths. His back trembles, shaking and quivering with the pain overtaking him. It’s consuming him, all the emotions he’s suppressed and forced back for so long finally making themselves known.

_My parents are dead. I love my best friend. My country is gone. My home is nothing but ashes. I’m alone._

He’s going to cry. More than a decade after the last time he succumbed to tears, he’s going to submit to them once more.

Your eyes close. He needs this; he needs to cry. “Cry, Robert. Let it out. Let it all out. I don’t care, and it won’t make me think any less of you. If that’s what you need, please, do it. I want you to get rid of the things that are bothering you. If you want to tell me everything you’re feeling, just to rid yourself of the pain it’s causing, do it. If you need to vent out everything you’ve held back, so be it.”

He’s barely able to stop the sobs building up. You can’t move your arms enough, with his being locked around them so hard, to put them around his back properly, so you push through your hesitance and slip them around his middle, under his shirt. The cool flesh of his lower back meets your palms, and you massage it soothingly, coaxing the tears out through touch.

The flames smoulder inside him, your arms around his bare torso only adding to the heat.

_Let go. Stop locking everything inside your heart. Let her see you for what you are, you coward._

He reaches his breaking point.

All of the grief and loss breaks through first. His mind is flooded with memories of his parents, of the brief, sporadic times he had with them. He remembers how much they would protect him and keep him safe from the nobility they always feared and despised, keeping him away from home because they knew he wouldn’t be free there. He remembers the rare times when they’d hug him, recalling how happy they’d seem despite not being overly affectionate toward him.

_I miss them so much. I want them back._

Bergenia comes next. His homeland, the country where he was born and raised as a young child, still lives on in his mind. He can still remember his house, and the forests and fields, the smells of grass and rain and flowers and the sounds of birds singing in the morning. He recalls the sun of a morning when he’d get up, bright but gentle and rising strong with the waking world. He knew people there. He had others he cared about, perhaps only as colleagues or acquaintances, but they were still people. He wanted them to be happy, safe and secure.

_Now, many of them will be dead._

He has no one to turn to now, other than you. His support, his source of security and his most trusted family, are gone. His other relatives are all in Darmera, and want nothing to do with him as a result of his parents’ profession. He’s alone, bar you and the others. Apart from you, really, he has no one he truly loves now. He’s all on his own once more.

_I should be used to it, but it still hurts._

And then, he’s done the one thing he never should have done. He’s gone back on his word, has broken a vital promise, to the most important person in his life. He swore he would abide by his word and would never fall for anyone in the group. He said he’d always maintain a friendly relationship with its members, and that he wouldn’t develop romantic feelings for any of them for the sake of the group’s credibility and principles.

Everything you’ve worked toward, for years… he’s managed to do it, but now, he’s ruined it. He’s fallen in love with you.

_The one piece of happiness I have left, and it’s forbidden._

His legs give out from underneath him. He collapses back against the door, sliding down to the laminate and taking you with him. You fall to your knees between his legs, trapped in his desperate grasp. He starts to speak, everything he’s thought coming out in a sudden, frustrated, agonised rush.

“Everything I love- everything I care about- it… it’s gone. It’s dead, or it’s something I can’t have. I’m a monster. I should have helped. I could have gone, to Bergenia- I- I could have gone so many times. I could have tried to understand the situation, to help and prevent it from happening. I was selfish and didn’t, and now they’re dead. My parents are dead and it’s my fault. I can’t get them back… I can’t-”

He breaks down into more violent, wracking sobs, tears streaming down his face relentlessly. He’s in so much pain.  He can barely think through the agony.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out the words, pulling you in even closer and hiding his face in your shoulder. His tears dampen the skin there, salted water dripping down your collarbone and moistening your shirt slightly. He doesn’t even notice. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t save them. I failed them. They’re dead because of me. I’m alone and I have nothing left. I can’t- I can’t just… I’m sorry…”

You’ve not said a single word. You’ve listened to everything he’s said, have taken in all of the raw emotion that has consumed his confession of thoughts and feelings. He’s finally bearing his heart to you, and you understand now exactly what you need to do.

“___,” He gasps your name out. It happens without him thinking about it or planning it, mouth moving and producing the name of the person he needs the most. It’s like a dying man crying out to his archangel to spare his life. “___... please…”

Your hands remove themselves from his back, arms managing to twist up and around his neck. You press his face into your shoulder gently, letting him know that he can say whatever he needs to say, that he’s safe and secure in your arms.

“Save me.”

It’s all you need to hear. Your eyes finally open.

“Robert,” You murmur the words around his cries, somehow heard despite being so quiet. “If you had have gone to Bergenia, every single chance you got, can you guarantee that this war wouldn’t have happened?”

The question is so simple, and the answer comes to swiftly, so obviously, that it stuns him.

_Of course not._

But… it’s his fault. If he had have gone, even, he might have been able to save them. He might have been able to get them out-

“And if you’d have been there last night, when this all happened, can you say for certain that you would have been able to save them?” You stroke his hair, brushing your fingers through the strands ever so carefully and nimbly. “I don’t know where they were when they… passed away, but I’d bet my life that they were trying to fight for Bergenia until the end. Is that correct?”

He doesn’t want to, but he nods into your shoulder, trembling like a leaf. You hum softly. “You know them better than anyone, Robert. Would they have left? Even if you were there, would they have left Bergenia if you asked them to?”

You’re tearing apart his guilt, piece by piece, one illogical thought process at a time. It’s almost frightening, how you’ve broken down his pain so easily and swiftly, reducing it to these simple components with almost no effort.

“So, if you couldn’t stop the war, and if you couldn’t have saved them, despite being there… are you to blame, Robert?”

_No._

He hates that you can strip him of his guilt like this, but you’re just doing exactly what he asked you to.

You’re saving him.

He gasps out another sob, but he shakes his head. You kiss the side of his head tenderly. “No, you’re not. You could never be blamed for either of those things, Robert. You did what your parents wanted you to do; you lived your life, like they wanted you to. They wanted you to do that, rather than be there with them, because they didn’t want you to have to live with what they did. That’s not a crime. You made them happy, by being happy here.”

Your cheek rests against his shoulder now, his still buried in yours. “And, while you may not have any blood relatives here now, at least for the moment, you are not alone. You will never, ever, ever be alone, Robert. I am here. The guys are here. We’re all here and we all love you to pieces; we always will. Never think you have no one.”

Your arms squeeze his neck, just slightly. “Your housing situation can be sorted out; it’s a problem that we can fix. You can stay here in Wysteria for now; that’s a problem that can be fixed. You have a family here, even through my mum, Lucian and Sid’s dad – he loves you to pieces as well. You’re not alone, and so that’s not a problem we need to fix.

“We’ll always be by your side. We’ll never leave or abandon you, that much I can swear on my life. We are your family, so you will never be on your own. I’m here for you whenever you need me, no matter what it’s for. The world isn’t your enemy, Robert. You don’t have to fight it, and when you need to fight it, you don’t have to do it yourself. Confide in us, rely on us, and trust in us. Let us take care of you.”

His composure shatters entirely. The wave of emotion that slams into him almost makes him feel sick, it’s so intense.

He sobs harder, tugging you against his chest. Noticing that your back is bending somewhat unnaturally, he turns your body around, crossing his legs under you and settling you on his lap. Now able to sit up, you shift so he can hold onto you more comfortably, face pressed into your collarbone.

It feels right, having you there. Having you on his knee, safe in his arms, makes him feel like he has a purpose. Even with his pain and aching, it helps. Somehow, it distracts him and makes it feel more real, that you are here and that you do care. Almost being able to pretend that you’re his combats some of the loneliness that’s been swallowing him whole since last night.

He cries for a long time, releasing years straight of pent-up emotion that’s just been waiting for the perfect moment to explode. You don’t mind in the slightest, even when the night-time descends and it turns ten. You continue to stroke his hair soothingly, smoothing your hands over his cheek every now and again, until his cries quieten and start to recede. He shudders around you, shaking hard, still clinging onto you like you’re his last lifeline.

At some point, when he’s still trying to steady his breathing, he realises that he might just be making you a tad uncomfortable. He swallows, clears his throat, then manages to mumble into your shoulder, “I’m sorry. If I’m making you uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay.”

You shake your head, reassuring him, “It’s okay; I don’t mind. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. I’m here to help.”

He sighs with relief, but he’s increasingly aware that his back is starting to ache from his position on the floor. He traces his fingers over your ribs, feeling the ridges and grooves of each bone on your right side. He’s too tired to say this in a less blunt way. “I’d like you to stay, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m afraid it provides me with significant comfort to hold you like this.” He can feel your skin warm against his at that, but you nod regardless, humming. “Would you mind if I sat on the couch? The door is to some degree uncomfortable.”

You nod again. “Of course. Let me get u- aah!”

You make a move to stand, but he sweeps you into his arms princess style and hauls himself to his feet, drawing a muffled scream from you. It’s so like you, he actually manages a fraction of a smile while he wanders over to the couch. He lowers himself onto the soft, white material, sitting back and cradling you against his chest again. You shift to get yourself comfy, resting your head against his collarbone. His chin settles atop your head, arms wound around your waist snugly.

His breathing has evened out now, control coming back and composure restoring itself. Calmer and more settled, he is able to focus on the feelings he’s experiencing by having you on his knee. Your thighs are touching his legs, partially exposed above the knee by your skirt, and your weight is a comforting presence on his lap. Your body is warm, skin soft and supple as he cradles your side and hip. Your hands are in your own lap now, clasped together. Your eyes are closed, expression peaceful.

_She’s so beautiful._

His thoughts return to his earlier revelation, and his lips come to rest against your forehead while he thinks.

_I’ve suspected that the others, at least a few of them, have broken their promise to her as well. I thought I was stronger than that, immune to it. Evidently not. I will have to confront them about it, since they are seemingly hiding their feelings from her. I presume they have an agreement of some sorts in relation to it._

He inhales, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and skin.

_For now, I just want her here with me. I just want to bask in having her here, having her close to me._

You’re so comfortable there, in his arms, that you don’t even think about what time it is. You’re too happy that he’s finally let everything out and broken down in front of you. It’s not like you want him to because you want him to be upset; you want him to break down at some point to release everything he instinctually bottles up. It helps him, so you’re glad it’s happened, and that you’re the one who could be there for him when it has.

Like you have done so many times when you’ve broken down to Sid, you curl into him, bringing a hand up to rest it over his heart. Sometimes, you’re doing it to make sure that it’s beating steadily. Sometimes, you just do it because it helps you and calms you down.

To him, it’s unbearable.

Your palm settles against the flesh, exposed and vulnerable, over his scar. His heartbeat becomes erratic for several seconds with his surprise, but he forces it to settle, trying not to allow any impure thoughts into his mind.

You both remain like that, content and comfortable, well into the night. Robert, aside from being somewhat… excited by having you close like this, feels so, so much better. He’s still grieving and imagines that the ache in his heart will take a long time to fade, but he thinks that crying so much, and hearing your words, has made it at least a little easier. He feels like he’s had a release, an escape. He feels freer and like a crushing, suffocating weight he’s shouldering for years has finally been lifted from him. It’s invigorating and amazing, and all because of you.

If you hadn’t prised his heart open, hadn’t forced him to show you his soul, he probably wouldn’t have ever done it by choice. He would have just carried on suffering.

At some point, you inhale deeply, seeming to be teetering over the edges of sleep. You snuggle into his chest, his heart pounding against his ribs in response. You groan quietly. “I need to go home. I’ll probably have a thousand messages from mum and the guys asking where I am.”

You heave yourself up and out of his arms, and he very reluctantly lets you go, close to sleep himself. He rubs his face, watching you wander over to your bag on the floor, picking it up before bringing it over to the couch. Feeling hopeful, he holds his hand out to you when you retrieve your phone, smiling up at you gently. You give him a grin, taking his hand and letting him tug you back on his lap.

“Am I really that cuddly, like Nico and Leo always say?” You joke, perching on his knee again before leaning against his chest and unlocking your phone. The glare from the screen makes you both wince, so you turn it down swiftly, then go into your messages. Fifty plus notifications. You groan. “They’re persistent.”

Robert studies your face as you reply to some of the messages, telling them that Robert’s alright but that you’re still with him. He murmurs tenderly, in response to your question, “You’re lovely and warm, and indeed extremely cuddly. It’s very much pleasant to hold you like this.”

Your cheeks gain a dusting of rose at that, but a little smile curls at your lips. “Apparently so. Huh.” You tap away at the screen, sighing out, “I’m getting a taxi. It’s too late to walk.”

_Don’t leave._

He speaks before he can stop himself.

“Why not stay over?” Your eyes snap up to his, expression clearly surprised. His brain scrambles to formulate an answer, and simultaneously save his neck from the blade of accidentally confessing his love for you. “It’s rather late, and I’d feel awful if you had to get a taxi home at this time of night. It’s because of me that you’re here at such an hour; stay, and I will ask Sid to bring fresh clothes for you in the morning. You have a shower then, don’t you?”

You nod, looking somewhat hesitant. He reaches up, brushing your hair back and tucking it behind your ear. “If you wish not to, I am not forcing you. I am merely offering you the option; it saves you travelling late, only to then return tomorrow morning. You can stay here, sleep in later since you’re already in the academy grounds, have a shower, have some breakfast and then get dressed when Sid arrives.”

_Not bad, for maybe five seconds of planning._

You seem to consider the offer, tilting your head thoughtfully. You appear to be mulling it over in your head. “I suppose so. It definitely saves me getting a taxi when I’m about ready to pass out, and saves me the walk in the morning.” You gaze up at him, pressing, “You don’t mind at all?”

He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Of course not.” Deciding to be entirely honest with you, he massages your hip, breathing out, “Admittedly, I would rather enjoy you being here, all things considered. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept in the same room or house as someone I am familiar with, and with everything that’s happened…” He breathes through the lump forming in his throat. “It would be nice, to not be alone, just for tonight.”

As soon as he says this, your beaming smile comes back. You nod fiercely. “Of course. You shouldn’t be alone, not with everything that’s gone on. Thank you, for being honest with me; that makes me really, really happy, that you’d tell me something like that.”

_She likes that I’ve bore my heart to her. If it will produce a beautiful smile and stunning eyes like that every time, I’ll have to do it more._

He nods. “I intend to tell you these things more from now on. It will take time, but I will learn, to speak what I feel as opposed to keeping it to myself.”

Realising that he hasn’t thanked you yet, he grins just a little, heart lighter and less burdened the more he focuses on you. He lifts you up so that he can sit you on the couch, protocol and procedure from his parents and noble life taking course before he can stop them. He lowers himself to one knee before you, picking your hands up and bringing them to his lips. He kisses each knuckle lovingly, an almost hopeful glimmer sparkling in his eyes. “Although, I wonder if you’re quite ready for the real me. He’s rather different to the Robert you’ve known all this time.”

You’re blushing pretty hard by this point, but it doesn’t stop the beautiful grin on your lips from widening. You let out a light laugh, to which he chuckles breathily, resting the top of your hand against his forehead. “Thank you, ___. You saved me and made me realise many things tonight, and for that I will never be able to repay you. You made me realise that I can be forgiven for my mistakes, and that I am not alone, even with my parents gone. Thank you so, so much.”

You lean down, squeezing Robert’s hands, before you brush a fleeting kiss against his hair and utter, “You have nothing to thank me for, Robert. For all the things you’ve done for me over the years, we’re more than even, or I owe you.” You pull back, thumbs rubbing his fingers. “Let’s just call it even. Deal?”

He nods. His grin doesn’t fade. “Deal.”

He stands up now, releasing your hands to wander over to the bathroom. Swinging himself inside and putting the light on, he checks that he has a spare toothbrush, nodding to himself upon finding one. He comes back into the main room, telling you, “I have a spare toothbrush that you can use whenever you’re ready to sleep. What would you prefer to do over sleeping? Would you like to stay in your uniform, since you will have a fresh one in the morning, or would you like me to see if there is something of mine that you can wear?”

You ponder that, glancing down at your skirt and shirt. “I’m not sure.” You blink, lips twisting with thought. “When I stayed with Giles, I ended up wearing one of his shirts, but it was really big and his trousers didn’t fit. I could probably just stay in my uniform.”

He tries to ignore the stab of discomfort that hits him at the mention of you staying with Giles, the memory surfacing of Giles revealing that you ended up sleeping in the same bed together. He forces back a frown. “Well, it is up to you. Allow me to let the office know I am having a guest over, and then ask Sid if he can pick up your clothes tomorrow.”

You nod, standing up as well. You take your blazer off, as well as your shoes, before setting the shoes next to Robert’s and draping your blazer over the chair at his desk. “Okay. I’ll ask my mum if she can get them ready for him, so he doesn’t have to root around in the morning for them, and let her know I’m staying here.”

Robert realises how much of a mistake he just made.

_If Sid were to gather the clothes himself, he would have to touch her underwear._

His eyebrow twitches, just slightly. He covers it with a smooth smile and a nod. “Wonderful. Feel free to use the bathroom, if you would like to do your teeth; I assume you would want to sleep soon, since you looked rather tired before.”

You grin sheepishly, nodding and padding over. “Yeah. I’m kind of exhausted, to be honest. Thank you.”

With that, you go in, shutting the door behind you. Robert gets to work, ringing downstairs and letting them know that he’s having you stay with him. Declan, the staff on duty, sounds half asleep when he answers, lazily signing you in. Robert checks the time, seeing that it’s ten to eleven. The office closes at eleven, so he just caught him at the end of his shift. His lips twitch into a marginally smug smile.

Once that’s done, he sends a message to Sid, keeping it brief and readying himself for an aggressive answer.

_Sid loves her. That much is obvious. I don’t doubt that he’ll be rather annoyed that she’s staying with me tonight._

The smile widens. His heart thuds a little faster and harder.

_**The Real Leonardo da Vinci:** Hello, Sid. I apologise for my behaviour and manner of speak earlier; I will explain what happened tomorrow, in the group chat or in person. I was hoping I could ask a favour of you._

He sends it, sighing to himself and putting the phone in his trouser pocket. Too tired to change clothes again, he leaves his half-buttoned shirt on, closing the blinds and curtains. He finds the spare duvet he has, as well as another pillow, before he sets them up on the couch. His phone vibrates. He takes it out, opening Sid’s swift response.

_**The Real Q:** Let me guess, this has to do with ___ staying with you. How come she’s not home yet? Does she want to stay, or did you forget to check? Look, I get that you’re upset because stuff happened in Bergenia, but I don’t really give a damn if you’re making her stay there with you._

Somehow, Robert finds himself smiling more.

_It’s so, so obvious. Such hostility, and yet he has no right to say such things. He knows nothing._

_**The Real Leonardo da Vinci:** It does. She is not home yet because she wanted to ensure that I had calmed down from the way I was earlier; I was rather unsettled and, to be blunt, in need of support. I did not force her into anything at all, however – please watch your tongue. I don’t appreciate you implying that I would do anything against her will. I offered for her to stay if she wanted to, to save her trouble now and in the morning, and as thanks for what she did for me today. She was, and still is, free to go home at any time. If she woke me at four in the morning asking to go home, I would arrange it for her._

He sends the Goliath of a message, expression both amused but miffed.

_I would never hurt her. I would never make her uncomfortable. I’d rather die._

Sighing to himself, he rocks back and forth on his heels for a moment, then turns when the bathroom door opens. You come out, hair brushed and still in your uniform, with a smile. “Hi. I’ve done my teeth, and spoken to my mum; she saw what happened in Bergenia, and knows I stayed with Giles, which was similar to this, so she’s fine with it. She’s got my uniform ready, if Sid will pick it up for me.”

His head drifts up and down. “Good. I’m just in the process of sorting that out with Sid, but I will do my teeth while I wait.”

Feeling the phone vibrate and not wanting you to see the verbal abuse coming from Sid, he strides into the bathroom, closing the door and leaning against the sink. He reads the newest message.

_**The Real Q:** Right. Whatever – she told me that too. I’ll pick her stuff up for her in the morning and drop it off with Louis earlier, so she’s got time to change. Make sure you’re up at eight to let us in._

It’s almost funny to Robert, now that he knows his own feelings, how blatantly obvious Sid appears. If he didn’t love her, though, he’d still be suspicious considering how aggressive he’s being.

_Calm yourself, Sid. I am not your enemy._

_**The Real Leonardo da Vinci:** Trust me, my intentions are entirely innocent and friendly; how could they be anything else, considering the oath we’ve sworn to her? I will be up to let you in, worry not._

He shakes his head, brushing his teeth and hair before wandering out of the bathroom, turning the light off behind him.

But then, he pauses.

You’re lying on the couch, under the quilt, tapping away at your phone. He blinks. Why the hell are you there? “___, what on earth are you doing? I set the couch up so that I could sleep there. Have the bed.”

You look at him like he’s speaking Dutch. “You’re joking, aren’t you?” When he arches an eyebrow, you tilt your head, puzzled. “Robert, you look shattered; you need a good night’s rest, considering what you’re dealing with. I’m fine sleeping here. I wouldn’t expect you to let me sleep in your bed.”

_This girl… absolutely impossible. Beautiful, yet unbearable._

He sighs, shaking his head. “___, I have taken the next week off college while I sort things out – I will sleep perfectly fine on the couch, and I have the rest of the week to catch up if I miss out of any.” He wanders over to you, perching next to you and teasing, “I heard that you did this with Giles, as well, insisting on taking the lesser option for his sake. You really should learn to be more selfish, Princess.”

You make a face, but don’t object when he brushes your hair back, then fingers the strands gently. “I’m selfish all the time.” Seeing his blank look, you shake your head. “This whole group, our friendship, everything we do every day, is all a product of me being selfish. It was all my choice. Me being here right now as opposed to getting a taxi was being selfish. Staying in Giles’ and ending up sleeping in the bed, even with him, was all selfish.”

He gazes down at you for a long few seconds.

He wonders how the hell you’re still single. But then, he remembers that you’re permanently surrounded by nine boys, all of whom are, in one way or another, ridiculously protective of you.

_Hm._

“Princess,” He sighs out, planting a hand on the couch next to your head to support him leaning over. “You can’t count every little thing you do and blame yourself for being selfish. Many of those things that you perhaps are responsible for starting are now things that others cannot live without. Your selfishness has resulted in happiness in other people and has fixed lives which were, prior to that point, broken or damaged. If all of that is selfish,”

He cups your cheek with his free hand, feeling the soft warmth in his palm. “Then me asking you to stay here was also very selfish, regardless of my reasoning for it. Would you call me selfish, for wanting you here tonight? For enjoying having you with me?”

Your lips part, cheeks tinted with blood and eyes wide. He smiles gently, grazing his fingers across your cheek. “Exactly. Now…”

He jerks the cover back in a swift motion, exposing your body under him. Banishing his less appropriate thoughts, he hooks an arm around your waist, hauling you upright before all but tossing you over his shoulder. You scream, balanced precariously on his shoulder, before you kick your legs and protest, “Robert, put me down! I swear, I’ll hide your paintbrushes! I’ll do it!”

He just chuckles, carrying you over to the bed. “I think I can handle that.”

You beat at his back, wriggling atop his shoulder in objection. “No,” You moan out, trying to yank your legs out of his arm’s grip so you can flip over him. “Stop it. I can’t believe you’re doing exactly what Giles did.”

That both makes him annoyed and interested. He pauses, watching you struggle and attempt to escape with little success. “How so?”

You huff. “I was ready to sleep in the armchair when he finished getting ready for bed, but then he sat on the floor and said he was going to sleep there.” You shove back, trying to twist around and loosen his grip with a grunt. “So, I sat on the floor as well, fully ready to sleep there if he was being stupid and insisting on worsening his chest infection by doing so.”

More attempts to unlock his arms from your thighs. More failures. “Agh! So then, I said I would beat him because he was more lethargic than me, which was a mistake. He tickled me until I basically couldn’t breathe, then carried me over to the bed before I could stop him. Goddammit!”

He leans down at this point, laying you back on the bed. When you go to sit upright, he traps you there, hands on either side of your head. “And I presume you attempted to get up, just like this, but he refused to let you return to the armchair. At which point, I imagine, you suggested sharing the bed.”

You heave out a slightly flustered breath. “Yeah.”

_Hm. It seems we have our compromise, then._

“Is the situation the same with me?” He questions, earning a confused, questioning tilt of a head from you. He chuckles again. “Will you continue to fight me and attempt to sleep on the couch if I don’t agree to sleep here?”

You nod stubbornly, crossing your arms under him. “Yes. I don’t care if you’re okay sleeping on there because so am I, and I’m the one intruding, so I should logically be the one sleeping there.”

He sighs, but he can’t stop smiling. You’re just making his day less and less shitty by the second.

“I see.” He brushes his hair back, offering, “Well then, I propose the same compromise. Presuming you have absolutely no issue with it, we share the bed. That way, both of us will be satisfied that the other has gotten a fitful night’s rest, and neither will feel any guilt for taking the bed.”

You blink, momentarily surprised by the calmly-delivered diplomatic solution. After a second, though, you nod, relief clear in your eyes. “Sounds good to me. You don’t mind sharing?”

He shakes his head, still smiling amusedly. “Not in the slightest.” He sits up, then stands, moving to the other side of the bed. Laying down on his back on top of the covers, he gives you a reassuring smile. “Worry not; I’m not going to wait for you to fall asleep, then go and sleep on the couch. I need to finalise things with Sid.”

You nod in understanding, taking your own phone out. “Okay. I’m just finishing talking to the guys, and then I’ll go to sleep.”

Ouch. That pang, again, right in his heart. He forces a smile. “Of course.” Pulling his phone out, he opens the message from Sid, received a few minutes ago.

_**The Real Q:** Just because you said you won’t end up that way doesn’t mean it’s impossible to. And good, me and Louis will both be there._

Robert shakes his head, glancing over at you. You’re occupied with your own phone. It’s safe to do this; he’s going to make it very clear to Sid that he’s aware of his feelings for you.

_**The Real Leonardo da Vinci:** That’s rather rich, coming from you, Sid. Then again, I suppose it’s just personal experience talking._

_Got you._

Robert smirks.

You lock your phone, setting it down on the bedside table, before you shuffle under the covers. He glances at you from the side when you still, seeing you lying facing him, eyes closed and expression peaceful once more. You press your face into the pillow, yawning, before you curl up in the cover and go still. You must be tired.

A vibration. He peers down at the screen.

_**The Real Q:** I guess you’d say that because of personal experience._

Robert’s smile disappears.

_It appears he’s learning quickly._

Anther message pops up almost straight after.

_**The Real Q:** We need to talk, me, you and most of the guys, away from ___. I’ll message you tomorrow to sort out a time. If you don’t talk to us, you’re going to hurt her. Just keep your hands off her for the night, Picasso, and be ready to talk to us tomorrow. Trust me when I say it’s in your best interest to do so, for her sake as well as yours and ours._

Robert exhales slowly, coming so a very solid, very sure conclusion.

_He’s not the only one. The promise has been broken multiple times, it seems._

_**The Real Leonardo da Vinci:** I would never touch her in that way. All of you, come here after college. Find a way to keep ___ and anyone who doesn’t need to be there separated, and then we’ll talk. Goodnight, Sid._

He locks his phone, setting it down on the bedside table. He slides under the cover, noticing that he can feel the warmth coming from you on his other side. Your eyes safely closed, he turns to face you, gazing down at your face in the dark. The urge to do exactly what he said he wouldn’t is so, so strong; he wants to stroke your face and hair, to kiss your face and hands and head, neck and wrists, everywhere. He wants to take you in his arms again and cradle you against him, embracing you, keeping you safe from the world that’s already harmed you both so much.

But, he can’t. He knows Sid is right. As soon as he lets the truth slip, your security net will come crashing down from around you. He can’t hurt you like that.

So, he remains there, watching you succumb further into sleep. He eventually closes his own eyes, listening to your soft breaths.

Finally, he’s gone. He drifts away himself, expecting nightmares and flames and grief. All he dreams of is angels.

**♡♔♡**

In the morning, he wakes up before you.

He’d set an alarm so he’d be able to wake you up in time to get ready, and so at half seven, he stirs from sleep with a groan, blearily opening his eyes. He bats at his phone until the alarm stops, staring up at the ceiling. He blinks.

_I… what?_

There’s a weight on his upper arm, something warm, soft, and smelling of vanilla. He glances down.

_Oops._

He’s in your side of the bed, having apparently rolled over in the night, and is now behind you. Your body is curled back into him, you apparently still fast asleep and unaware of the fact, and his arm is under your head, providing a pillow for it. The tingling in his fingers tells him he’s been like this for a long time.

_I’m lucky she didn’t wake up whenever I decided to cuddle her in sleep. That would have been a problem._

He reluctantly sits up, sliding his arm out from under your neck. You make a soft sound, wriggling back just a little, and it’s almost like you’re trying to shift into his arms again with the movement. He bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood, to prevent himself from doing something stupid, reckless, impulsive and morally awful.

_Wake her up. Now. Before you lose control._

He exhales, actually feeling a drop of blood sliding over his lip. Scowling at himself, he licks it away, then gently strokes a hand over your hair before whispering, “Princess, it’s time to get up. If you want a shower, you might want to get up soon. I’ll make breakfast while you’re in there.”

You groan quietly, burrowing deeper into the cover. His heart starts to pound away in his chest, and he exhales, shaking his head.

_She’s so cute. Everything she does is adorable. How?_

He’ll have to wake her up properly before he loses his head entirely.

A devious smirk forms on his lips.

_Thank you for the idea, Giles._

His hands seize your waist, fingers prodding and jabbing at your sides, then brushing over them intermittently. You yelp and jump, then scramble to get away from the sudden attack, eyes now very much open and awake. He drags you back, against his chest, before continuing the assault, now entranced by your involuntary laughter. You giggle and squeak, batting at his hands and wriggling around helplessly. You look so beautiful, so pure and real and stunning, that it takes his breath away as well.

“Are you awake, Princess, or do I need to increase the severity of my tickling?” You try to gasp out a response, but it’s cut short by your scream when he tickles a particularly sensitive spot on your side. He grins like the devil, tugging you onto his lap properly. His fingers descend on your stomach. “It seems the princess is speechless. I’ll have to take drastic measures, then.”

“N-No! Ahh, ah! D-Don’t! I’m awake!” You wail out through your laughter, curling in on yourself in an absolutely adorable attempt to stop his attack. He howls with laughter himself, almost picking your ball of a body up and carrying on tickling you. “Robert, please! I’m awake!”

He rests his lips against your ear, whispering, “Are you certain?”

You nod desperately, stifling a scream when he tickles your upper abdomen. “Yes! I’m awake, I swear! Stop!”

At your words, he finally relents, giving up in his torture. You collapse back against him, breathless and panting, gasping for oxygen. He can’t stop chuckling, admiring your dishevelled, gorgeous state, skin flushed and eyes glittering with life. He embraces you from behind now, very gently, chin propped up on your shoulder. “Good. At least you’re entirely awake now.”

A ragged puff of laughter escapes you, breaths heaved in and out of your chest heavily. You let your head fall back, against his shoulder, and it takes all his willpower not to kiss, or perhaps bite, the beautiful neck you expose to him in the process.

“You’re so mean.” You giggle out playfully, shaking your head. “It’s one thing for Giles to do it when I’m conscious and sat next to him, but to do it when I’m half asleep with my eyes closed?” You nudge his chest with your elbow. “That’s just cruel.” You pat his arms now, sighing out, “Come on – let me up, please. I need to have a shower, or I’ll be late.”

He releases you immediately, sitting back before dragging his hair away from his face. You crawl off his lap and then the bed, padding over to the bathroom. He watches your back, a very pleasant, peaceful, fulfilled sensation sweeping over him. “Feel free to use anything you want in there. The towels are in the cupboard.”

“Thank you!” You call back, going in and shutting the door.

As soon as you’re out of sight, he collapses back against the mattress. A huge, silly grin graces his lips, and he brings his hand up to his mouth, trying to stifle it. His heart is pounding. He feels so alive, so warm and content and truly happy, joy and excitement coursing through his veins. He’s never felt anything like it. He would give anything, would do anything, to have this for the rest of his life.

Alas, he can’t be thinking about that right now.

He shoves himself up, opening the curtains and blinds before getting started with breakfast. He cooks something he knows you like, but nothing too heavy for the day, thoughts drifting between waking up with you and having you in his arms in such a breath-taking way. He just can’t stop smiling.

Not too long later, there’s a knock at the door. Robert pops a piece of egg into his mouth, since he’s starving and needs food, before going to the door and unlocking it. Opening it, he finds Sid and Louis stood there. Remaining cool, calm and collected, he gestures for them to come inside. “Come in.”

Sid smirks, entering first. Louis steps in, then pauses, asking in the habitually soft voice he uses for most of the group, “Are you alright, Robert? I’m sorry; I heard about what happened.”

Robert nods, ignoring the ache in his heart. “I’m fine. Thank you very much, though; I’ve taken the week off to sort myself out.”

Louis nods, stepping in further. Robert shuts the door, watching Sid head straight for the bathroom, where the shower can be heard running. He reaches into his large bag, producing a neat pile of clothes, as well as what Roberts sees is deodorant. “Hey, ___. Can I open the door for a sec? I’ve got your clothes.”

Your voice can be heard through the door, calling back, “Yeah! Thank you, Sid!”

He snorts, opening the door just slightly, so that he can reach through and set them on the floor of the bathroom. He closes the door again. “You owe me one, Princess!” You laugh over the sound of running water, and he rolls his eyes, then saunters back to stand by Louis. Robert returns to the breakfast, eyes downcast and focused on it, but he can sense the stares of the two on his back. He nibbles on another piece of egg.

“Do either of you want breakfast? I’m guessing you haven’t had any yet. There’s time for me to make you some.” He offers, deciding to be civil. Sid snickers, plopping onto the couch, before he replies,

“You’re seriously offering to make us food?” At Robert’s controlled, mute nod, he snorts. “Wow. Thanks; saves me having my stomach crying in first lesson.”

Louis inclines his head. “If you definitely don’t mind, I’d appreciate it. Thank you, Robert.”

Said male nods, setting your breakfast aside and getting started on theirs. He confirms that they’re alright with ham and eggs, then chews another bit of egg before he gets going with his newly-formed plan. “Now, while you wait for food and ___ is in the shower, I’d like you to ask you something, Sid.”

The tall male narrows his eyes, but he swiftly clicks on, responding dryly, “Is it about the thing we need to talk about?” At Robert’s cautious glance toward Louis, he gives a dark laugh. “Lou’s in on it too, don’t worry. We can talk about it in front of him.”

Robert nods. That makes this easier. “Who else is involved, or can be spoken about it to?”

Louis answers now, breathing out, “All of us but Albert.”

Robert freezes, almost stabbing the egg he’s frying.

_Seven. Seven out of eight? Seven of them, all feeling… all romantically involved… all…_

It takes him a long few seconds to shake the shock off. It’s a hard hit to take.

“Allow me to confirm this.” He lowers his voice, and both Sid and Louis move to stand close to him, letting his speak even quieter. “Unless I have misinterpreted what you said, Sid, this situation involves obviously forbidden romantic feelings for ___.” Sid nods. “So, all seven of you, Albert being the only one unaffected, feel that way for her.”

Sid nods again, glancing at Louis. The latter casts his eyes to the floor, mumbling, “It’s not just liking her, though. We’re all in love with her.”

Robert’s grip on the spatula tightens.

_I thought I was the only one. Now, I have seven people to compete with. What a pain in the neck._

“Although,” Sid sighs out, leaning against the counter. “I’m roundabouts ninety-eight percent sure Albert’s the same, but he’s firstly in denial, and secondly too much of an idiot, to consider even thinking about what he feels for her. I’m pretty sure he’s the same.”

Robert’s somewhat spiteful words come without him thinking. “Considering that this was never supposed to happen, and now eight out of nine are in the exact same position, I think the odds would tip in favour of that.”

Sid grunts. “Yep.” Robert plates up Sid’s breakfast, and he takes it with a grateful nod, starting to eat it between speaking. “I’ll give you a basic run-down of the situation here, and then we’ll go over details later. Basically, we’re all in love with her, but if we told her – any of us – it would literally kill her. The guilt she’d feel would just tear her apart and eat at her, so we’ve all agreed not to say anything. We’re all staying quiet for now, until we can come up with a solution.”

Louis picks up here murmuring, “Her mother worked it out. Right back when Sid first came to understand it, she knew straight away, and she’s known with the rest of us as well from that point onward. When all of them but me had realised what they felt, she brought them together to discuss it, and instructed them to stay quiet. I was a little after, but I’ve spoken to her as well now, since it will only make things more complicated and awry if we hide anything from her mother.”

Robert blinks, plating up Louis’ breakfast. “Wait. Her mother _knows_? How has she not murdered any of you yet? Or all of us, for that matter?”

Louis sighs, taking his breakfast, before answering. “She saw it happening. She understood before any of us did; she could see it coming. It’s not surprising, considering the things we’ve all been through together. We did, for years, what ___ envisioned. We were simply platonic with her. Now, things have just moved up a step because of the individual events and situations we’ve had to deal with. She’s been the one to get us through them, so it’s logical that we’d develop deeper feelings for her. More often than not, it’s the hardest, most painful times that have brought out our real emotions and made us realise things.”

Robert can’t fight that. He’s right.

Sid nibbles on a slice of ham, swallowing and concluding, “So, essentially, you’re going to have to talk to her mother. We’ll tell her anyway, but she can help with controlling it, basically. She’s helped us all to learn how to keep our heads and not rip each other to shreds every time someone is near her.”

He winces. He doesn’t want to have to admit such personal feelings to your mother of all people, but he supposes it’s the right thing to do. It’ll hurt, but it’ll have to happen.

“But what will happen in the long-term? We can’t just hide forever. It’s a temporary solution to a permanent issue. It’s not sustainable.” He counters, glancing between the two before finishing his own breakfast and plating it up. He picks at it, listening to Sid respond dryly.

“At this point, we’ve come up with three options. First, we never tell her. We suck up our feelings and keep it to ourselves potentially forever, for her sake.”

Robert’s stare swiftly transforms into a glare.

_What a horrific prospect. No, thank you._

Sid smirks. “Yeah, me too. That shit ain’t happening.” He hums, eating some more ham. “Option two, we all come out and tell her, basically being cruel to her and putting her on the spot; she’ll feel like she needs to give us an answer, and will probably either break down entirely out of guilt, discomfort or disappointment that we broke our promises.”

Robert’s glare intensifies. He’s about ready to slap Sid.

Louis takes over now, seeing Robert’s evident irritation. “I would never agree to that. I wouldn’t hurt her, irrespective of how much it hurts to hide everything from her.” He inhales deeply. “The third option is one we’ve only started to consider recently, and was given to us by her mother.”

He fixes Robert with a deadly-serious, almost forceful stare, tone matter-of-fact. “What I’m going to say next is something you need to have an open mind about. It sounds ridiculous and impossible, but there is a possibility that it will work. It would take time, observation of her behaviour and extremely careful timing, but there’s a chance it will be a functional solution, and that all of us will get what we want, in a way, with as little pain on our part as possible. Please try to be open about it.”

Robert immediately grows apprehensive of what it might be. However, considering the other options, he’s pretty much willing to try anything that sounds remotely sensible. “I’ll do my best. Tell me.”

Louis glances at Sid. The latter smirks, snorting with laughter, before shaking his head. “By now, I’m all for it. I’d do it, if it means I can stop lying and hiding around her. Tell him, Lou-Lou.”

Louis scowls, but it lessens when he looks back to Robert. “In essence, the third option is polyamory; a romantic relationship, founded completely on love, trust and communication, between more than two people. Assuming she felt the same way toward us, which is possible because of how much she cares, we’d share her.”

Robert’s thoughts, for once, come to a complete standstill. He stares at Louis, feeling almost dumbstruck.

_Scrap “remotely sensible”, then._

“You’re joking.” It’s the first thing he can say, since his mind feels like it’s been fried on the hob with the eggs. “You’ve got to be. That could never work; there’s eight, or potentially nine of us. One person can’t be shared between those numbers, and what are the odds that she’d feel that way toward us? As far as we know, we’re the ones who’ve been weak and unable to uphold our promise. We have no indication that she has as well.”

Sid shakes his head, finishing his breakfast. He rinses his plate off, countering, “Not actually true. Me, Leo, Nico and Giles have been testing the water with this, and we’ve all been monitoring her reactions to us much more closely over the past few months. We think there’s actually a chance that she’s capable of romantic emotion toward us, but that she’s just warding anything she feels off as passing sensations, general attraction or something she should feel bad for, considering the promise.”

Louis nods. “Don’t get wrong, I still fully believe that she has always, and that it’s possible to in general, be close the way we are without romance. Platonic relationships like these still happen and occur, without a doubt. However, the way she responds to us sometimes, and the way she’ll do things like staying over at our houses or in the dorms even alone, makes me have my doubts. I think we are, without any shadow of a doubt, her best friends, and that she still sees us that way, but she might _just_ be opening her eyes to something more.”

Robert’s thoughts whirl.

_She slept in my bed with me last night. She let me hug her, let me hold her and touch her and sit her on my lap, for hours straight. She had her hand on my heart. She touched my back. She wasn’t uncomfortable when I had her on my lap and tickled her. She’s always let me touch her face, stroke her hair, kiss her hands or face. She’s always done that with the others, too._

But never, ever, with anyone else.

The realisation hits hard.

“Never anyone else…” He murmurs, mind picking up the pace and moving faster, logic now presenting itself in what they’re saying. Louis and Sid stare, clueless as to what he means. He swallows thickly.

“She never, ever lets anyone else touch her like we do. A hug, maybe, with one of the other students, but it’s always brief. Maybe something comforting like rubbing their back or arm, but nothing more complex. As soon as people have tried to stroke her hair or even her arms, she’s stopped them straight away. She doesn’t seem comfortable at all with anyone touching her, if it’s not us.”

Louis blinks. He hasn’t even thought about that side of it. “That’s true. It’s only ever us.”

Sid nods slowly. “Even though she lets Lucian touch her, it’s only when there’s a pretty serious reason. It’s usually just a hug, or maybe him stroking her back, when things are bad.”

Robert straightens up. “And even then, she’s always moving as soon as she can to come back to us. Any of us. As long as she can find one of us, she’ll settle and feel safe. Even after she came back from that mission in August, she seemed like she wanted to hug us more than Lucian or her mother.”

They all take a moment to process this new train of thought, amazed by it.

“By God,” Robert breathes out, leaning over his plate. “We have a chance. It might actually be possible. You two might not be entirely insane.”

Sid rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking. “Even if I am insane, I’m still right.” He makes a sound low in his throat, muttering, “Still, imagine if that ended up working out. Imagine walking in on one of us kissing her or something.”

Robert, in the process of eating some egg, chokes on it, genuinely caught off-guard by the honestly mortifying prospect.

He coughs violently, trying to dislodge the egg from his throat, while Sid howls with laughter and Louis pats his back. It’s now that you emerge from the bathroom, clad in your fresh uniform, hair dried and styled. You blink upon seeing him choking, sprinting over with your things in the crook of your elbow. You rub his arm and back, asking,

“Robert, are you okay? What happened?” You send Sid a chiding look. “Stop laughing and get him some water, Sid! He’s choking.”

Sid can barely move with his guffaws, but he manages to pour a glass of water and slide it over. Robert downs it in one go, airways finally opening up again, before he gasps for breathe and clears his throat. Sid’s in hysterics by this point. “Better control those thoughts of yours, Robert, if that’s what they do to you!”

You give him a kick in the shin, scolding, “Sid, stop patronising him! He choked; that’s not his fault.”

Sid just laughs harder, almost giggling now. Louis, irritated by the noise, smacks him over the back of the head, hard enough to make Sid stumble and hunch over with pain. “Ow. Louis, you prick…”

You take Robert over to the couch, then bring the rest of his breakfast and your own over, eating it with him. Sid’s still giggling to himself over Robert’s reaction when you gather your things, then check that he’ll be okay for the day and get ready to go to your first lesson. He assures you that he’ll be fine, and with another whack on the back of Sid’s head, you head out with him and Louis.

He lies back on the couch when you’re gone, breathing deeply.

_Eight out of nine of the male members of the group are in love with the only female member, who created the group with the intention of it remaining platonic. It’s too cruel to her to tell her, but too cruel to us to expect us to stay silent indefinitely. The only other option is all of us having her, and that will work only if she loves every single one of us, equally._

He rubs his hands over his face, then grabs a cushion and squishes it against his face, sighing.

_I’ll deal with this when college is over. For now, I’m going back to sleep._

**♡♔♡**


	11. Part XI | Albert | Trust - 2nd July 2016 | 17 | Summer Holidays, End of College Year 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They haven’t always loved you as they do now. For years, you’ve been their friend, their best friend, their saviour and their support. You’ve saved them countless times, have been there from day one. But they used to see you as simply that; a friend.
> 
> They swore to you, they would never feel more than that. They made an oath to preserve the principles of the group.
> 
> “We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”
> 
> So, why did things change, and how?
> 
> Now, you can know. This is where it all started. This is how each of them fell in love with you.

**♡♔♡**

Ever since he met you, Albert’s life has just gotten confusing, more confusing, completely baffling, and finally ended up becoming one big, unthinkable mess.

It started off when you drew Nico in, coaxing him to you without even consciously trying. Just a few minutes with you at lunch, Nico would say. Just a few minutes to talk at break, he’d promise. Just sitting next to you once in form, _just_ once.

Those minutes always conveniently ended up being sixty or longer. It was never “once”.

Albert scolded him for it incessantly, of course. He berated and chided him, snapping at him to remember what Byron told him about getting close to people. Problem is, Nico has a particular condition, one which means that he’s incapable, physically unable, to follow Albert’s orders. He’s able to follow Byron’s, but sometimes… no. Sometimes, he just does whatever the hell he wants and goes rogue.

Brat. Worm. Short one. Stumpy. Idiot. Fool.

There’s many a name Albert thinks are suitable for Nico Meier.

This aside, back to you. Once you had Nico completely wrapped around your nimble, delicate little fingers, Albert thought that would be the end of it. He thought they’d simply remain in your group for Nico’s sake to keep him occupied and out of trouble, as well as out of their way. They, meaning Albert and Byron, of course.

But, then… Byron got sucked in, too.

There aren’t enough words in the world to describe Albert’s shock, horror, bemusement and surprise when, after there was the “kick-off” between you and Albert and Byron, the latter decided to stay in Wysteria. Albert was glad, of course, since that was the original plan and meant that they would remain in a safer, more secure position.

What got him was how, when you woke up in the morning, all of the boys waiting in your room, you _hugged Byron_. You _hugged the Wagner heir as if it was nothing_. Albert was about ready to explode at this point, so when you were pushed into him, and him into you, and he ended up hugging you, he practically frazzled out.

I mean, you were just so tiny, so fragile, small and doll-like, held in his arms like you were made of glass. You could probably put him flat on his arse in a second if you wanted to, that much he begrudgingly knows, but you just felt so breakable in his arms like that. It felt good, though, having you there. It was nice soothing and relaxing, safe and warm and loved…

_Wait, what?_

Moving swiftly onward, after that happened, the group practically cemented itself together. You all spent so much time together, be it morning, noon or night, over the holidays. They slept in your house, you all slept at Sid’s at one point, you stayed over in Alyn and Leo’s dorm. Every waking moment, you were all together, and it started to become normal, to become expected, that you would always be together.

Or, at least, it did to Albert.

So, when things went back to normal after the holidays, it sort of threw Albert off a bit. He started to feel a sort of hollowness, an odd little aching in his chest, when they’d go home at the end of each day and return to their dorm while you went home. It confused him greatly, leaving him puzzled and somewhat concerned about his heart’s health. Every time Byron or Nico spoke of you in the dorm, the aching would worsen, twisting and gnawing at him, until he eventually started to reach up and press his hand against the space above it, as if doing so would ease the pain.

It didn’t, at all. The pain hasn’t gone.

Byron has noticed this behavioural change by now, and points it out one night when he and Nico are talking about the upcoming equestrian exams and how they think you’re going to do extremely well in it. Byron glances over at Albert, asking, “Al, you’ve been doing that a lot lately, and in increasing frequencies, as well. Are you alright?”

Albert’s head snaps up, his eyes having been on the floor, thoughts far away in a dream world filled with you.

Hang on. He’s daydreaming about you now?

Flustered by his own thoughts, he stammers out a response, unaware of his now habitual hand movement. “W-What do you mean? Which?”

Byron blinks. Nico grins, amber eyes smug. “Aw, Al! You’ve been doing it all the time lately – touching your heart!”

Albert’s eyes fly down to his chest.

True to Nico’s annoying words, his hand is pressed against the space above his heart.

He yanks it away, shocked by the fact that he’s been doing it quite literally without noticing. He diverts his eyes to the side, feeling his skin warming and mind recoiling with confusion and mental chaos. “It’s nothing. I just… had a pain. That’s all.”

Nico tilts his head. “A pain?” His grin widens. “A pain that keeps coming back, particularly when-”

“Nico.” Byron interrupts his brother abruptly, sending him a warning look. “Enough. Don’t patronise him over something he’s genuinely concerned about.”

Nico hangs his head. “Sorry.”

“… particularly when-”

_Particularly when you talk about ___, you brat._

This has gone on for months now, and it’s the morning of the day when you stay over at Robert’s, when it’s discovered that Bergenia collapsed and was dissolved at long last, his parents being killed in the process. The group goes to his dorm after college, Byron explaining that they should support him considering how much they’ve neglected to care for him all this time.

Albert, for once, agrees. Whilst he thinks that Robert should have spoken up if he was feeling ignored, he can also relate to saying nothing. His own woes and issues are not things he would consider speaking of, to anyone, out of pure instinct and habit.

Once they arrive, Robert invites them in, and they all settle down to talk for a bit. Robert explains everything that happened in Bergenia and with his parents, how he broke down to you at long last and confronted everything he’s kept to himself. He also goes over his plan to stay off for the week, sort out any legal business, and then come back in when he’s ready. Albert, while thinking a week could be detrimental to his grades, can’t argue with him needing to grieve.

Later on, it’s decided that everyone will do some studying, since the end of term exams are coming up and it would be wise for everyone to revise.

However, oddly, none of the guys have the textbooks they need to revise. They shrug it off, all seeming to have forgotten them because of needing to rush in to see Robert earlier. Albert is dubious of such an explanation, but he can sympathise. To an extent, at least.

He cannot sympathise, however, when all of them ask you and Albert to go and get the textbooks they need.

“Why?” He asks dryly, unamused by the sudden request. Nico beams, bouncing over to sit next to Robert and drop his head onto the painter’s shoulder.

“Because, we’ve got some stuff we wanted to talk to Robert about that you’d find boring, and ___ has already had time to talk to him, so you may as well go with her and get them rather than waiting.” He chirps out. Byron nods.

“Indeed. Would you be able to do this, please, Al?” He asks. Albert’s reluctance decreases instantly, and he finds his objections dying in his throat.

“Alright.” He relents, nodding and standing up.

You do the same, straightening your jacket and skirt. Leo, who has been writing down all the books they need, now catches your wrist, handing you the piece of paper with them on. “These are the sections and shelf numbers in the library, aren’t they?”

He nods. “Yeah. Some of them are a bit high up, though, so you’ll need to use the ladders or ask Albert to get them for you.” He winks up at you. “Be careful, Princess.”

You roll your eyes, playfully flicking him on the head and grinning at Alyn’s approving nod. “Excuse you. I’m not the one who fell off the ladder in year eight.”

Leo cringes. The rest of the group, minus Albert, smile or laugh at his embarrassment. You ruffle his hair playfully, then bounce over to Albert, waving the paper. “Okay. Shall we go? The quicker we get started, the quicker we’ll be back.” You give him a kind, gentle grin. “Wouldn’t want to keep you away from Byron and Nico for too long.”

Sid howls with laughter at that, along with Nico. Byron can’t stifle his smile, and even Robert grins at your words. You duck around Albert and out of the door, seeming to want to avoid instant death by Albert’s hand. Flushing with embarrassment, he swivels around and stalks after you, leaving the dorm room.

“Don’t kill her, Al! If you do, I’ll have to kill _you_!” Nico calls after him. Albert’s eyebrow twitches.

_That short-stack couldn’t kill me if he tried._

You walk down the corridor, heading straight for the library. He walks alongside you, having to slow down from his usual pace to do so, but he’s become accustomed to it by now; he’s used to adjusting to you, shifting this here and that there to take your differences into account.

The aching in his chest has eased already, but it’s now replaced by a strange, almost sad longing, pulling and tugging inside him like a chain. His hand comes up without him thinking, and he tries to distract himself from the sensation, asking something neutral. “You stayed with Robert overnight, yes?”

You nod, humming and beaming up at him. “Yeah.”

He returns the nod, trying to work out why he almost feels sick at the split-second vision he has of you sharing a bed with Robert. “How is he?”

You sigh softly, but the smile stays, and your voice is strong when you answer. “He’s good. He really struggled at first and he’d kept a lot of things bottled up for a long time, but now he’s gotten it all out of his system, he’s much better. He said he feels much stronger now.”

_Got it all out of his system?_

He frowns.

_What on earth does that mean? It isn’t something lewd, surely… the oath…_

“By getting it out of his system, you mean…” He trails off, indicating his cluelessness. You chuckle.

“He cried. He hasn’t done it for over ten years, but he finally cried and broke down to me, so everything that he’s suppressed all this time sort of came out all at once.” You explain, tone respectful and relieved. He becomes even more confused.

“You seem happy about this.” He states, tone monotonous. You nod, not looking in the slightest ashamed.

“I am. Crying is good for you; it releases endorphins that make you feel better, and it genuinely, for most people, allows them to get rid of negative emotions they’ve buried in them. It’s a release, and a natural one at that. Crying is normal, and every now and again, very much healthy.” He blinks, staring down at you.

You’re so odd, finding happiness and even relief in someone else crying. He understands the logic, but it still comes across as rather strange.

“I see.” He murmurs.

The rest of the walk is silent, and then you arrive at the library. You navigate to the row you need for the first book, spying for it and taking it off the shelf. Albert hovers behind you absently, almost as if it’s normal for him, keeping close to you as you study the paper and find the books. He takes them once they’ve piled up higher than your chest, allowing you to carry on collecting them without having to worry about dropping any of them.

Twenty minutes pass, and you’re almost done. You come to a stop, however, when you glance up at a higher shelf of the bookcase you’re at, peering at one of Leo’s German textbooks. You hum to yourself, looking for a ladder, but you can’t see any. You haven’t actually seen them around the place, now that you think about it.

While you’ve been considering this, and mulling over what you should do, Albert has been monitoring an increasingly persistent problem from the side.

There’s a group of students sat a little way away, ones he recalls being rather uncooperative and somewhat an enemy of all of you. They’re watching you and Albert like cornered mice, sneering, snickering and laughing, devious smiles and unkind eyes tracking your every move. Albert doesn’t like one bit how they’re watching you both, and has started to drift toward you without conscious awareness of it, instincts telling him to be near you in case anything happens.

You’re about ready to go and ask the library staff where the ladders are when his arms brushes against you. You don’t think any of it at first, expecting him to withdraw all embarrassed and flushed like always. When he doesn’t, you peek up at him, peering at his face.

He’s staring at something to his side intently, absolutely focused and borderline hostile. You blink, poking your head around his chest to see what it is.

_Oh._

You sigh inwardly.

_For Christ’s sake. They just can’t give me a break._

It’s one of the few groups in the school that’s not fond of you and the boys, and the biggest current problem for all of you. They’ve threatened you a few times when they’ve walked past you in the classrooms, and a few of them cornered you once, but you put them in their place before they even had the chance to do anything to you. You’re not scared of them.

Your hand comes up, very gently resting on Albert’s upper arm. His head whips around to you, and he blinks, the hostility in his eyes melting away. You nod, giving him a calming smile and squeezing his arm gently. “It’s okay. Just ignore them; the more you react, the more they’ll carry on.”

While he disagrees entirely about ignoring them, you do have a point. He can’t bring himself to argue with you when you gaze up at him so kindly, and so he exhales, visibly loosening up. He nudges his glasses with his free hand. “You have a valid point. Let us go and ask the staff where the ladders are.”

You nod, walking over to the desk where the librarian is. He smiles up at you, giving a little wave. “Studying after school? Wise choice.”

You grin. “Yeah. Do you know where the ladders have gone? Usually there’s at least a few around, but we can’t find any.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. The technicians working on the lights for the play have borrowed them for the week, in the atrium. We won’t be getting them back for the week, unfortunately, so there’s not much we can do for you, I’m afraid.”

Your head drifts up and down, expression understanding. “That’s okay. Thank you very much.”

You wander back to the shelf with Albert, tipping your head. “Should we leave it? I’ll feel bad if Leo doesn’t get the book he needs. I have German exams as well, so I would have liked to use it. Damn.”

Your eyes drift to the chairs around one of the study tables nearby. You look between it and the shelf, sizing up the height difference.

Albert’s eyebrow twitches.

_She can’t be serious._

You send him a playful grin. “Give me a few secs to try something.”

Instantly, he’s opposed to you doing this. You could hurt yourself doing it, which is bad, or you could end up breaking the chair if it tips over. Plus, you could humiliate yourself in front of that other group, who could make your life miserable because of it-

His eyes snap to the side of the room, where the students were. His blood runs cold.

_They’re gone._

You’re about to set the chair down in front of the bookcase when he reaches out to grasp it, body acting without him really considering what he’s doing. You can only watch, puzzled, as he puts the chair back, heart suddenly pounding with something that feels close to fear and concern. He sets the books down on the table, deciding that he’s going to make sure you get the book, but that the students aren’t going to hurt you.

“You’re unbelievable.” He mutters, turning to you. You blink.

And then, you’re squeaking with shock as he puts his hands on your hips, lifting you up and against him. In a smooth motion, he’s turned you around, lifting you to sit precariously on his shoulder. You cling onto his other one and wrist for balance, teetering perilously stop him. “A-Albert?”

He gives you a marginally flushed but blank stare, instructing, “Get the book. Why else would I lift you like this?”

You grip his shoulder tighter, but you nod, reaching up for the book. You manage to get hold of it and are in the process of pulling it out when a sickeningly familiar voice shouts down the aisle.

“Hey, c’mere a sec! Got something to show you, sweetie.” One of the girls from the less-than-friendly group drawls, stood at the end of the bookcase. Rapid footsteps approach you and Albert from the other side, and you both turn around just as another boy in the group sprints toward you.

“I hear you, babe!” He calls back smugly, running straight at Albert.

He immediately regrets making the choice he did.

_I don’t have time to put her down-_

“Out of my way, freaks.” The boy practically snarls, inches away from you both.

He slams his shoulder into Albert as he sprints past, hard enough that Albert’s almost immediately thrown back with the impact. The force sends him stumbling back, gripping your thighs hard in an attempt to keep you steady, but it’s no use. His centre of mass and balance is tipped off, and his body falls back, yours only accelerating the force. He braces himself, your name leaving his lips in a panicked shout. “___!”

He slams against the floor, his rear connecting first and taking the brunt of the momentum. Pain burns through his lower spine and pelvis, swiftly followed by his shoulders as they collide with the laminate. His head hits last, snapping back harshly, pain blistering through his skull. He grunts, wincing hard.

The sound of you hitting the ground immediately diverts his attention.

His eyes dart upward just in time to see you go down. Your hip slams into the floor first, hands shooting out in an attempt to lessen your speed. They don’t move soon enough, though, and your upper torso collapses against the floor, shoulder and chest taking a good portion of the momentum. It’s not enough to stop your head from being flung forward, and he watches in horror as it collides with the laminate, a sharp cracking sound echoing out from it.

Once you’ve both stopped moving, Albert’s struck by an awful, gripping, soul-deep sensation of guilt and failure.

_This is my fault. She’s hurt because of me. What if she has concussion? What if she’s unconscious?_

Ignoring his own pain, he shuffles out from under your thighs, your body having turned while you fell. His back aches as he forces himself onto his hands and knees beside you, reaching out to touch your back and arm. He vaguely hears the sound of the students screaming, the librarian roaring and sprinting after them. Your fingers clench into fists, then loosen again, and a soft, quiet moan of pain escapes you.

“___? ___! Answer me; can you hear me? Are you alright?” He spitfires the questions relentlessly. Leaning down to peer at your face. It’s shielded by your hair, and he brushes it away without thinking, tucking it behind your ear. “___-”

He goes completely still. Your expression is contorted with pain, eyes hazy, and you’re swaying just slightly. A horribly familiar spatter of crimson drips from your forehead, pooling on the floor beneath you.

You blink, gaze moving to him gradually. It looks like you’re slightly out of it. “Albert?” You squint your eyes, peering at his neck, before you suddenly shove yourself up, grasping his forearms. You lose your balance, though, and pitch forward, toward him. He catches you, holding onto your sides to steady you, as your head falls against his chest. You groan, then shake it and force yourself up, kneeling. Your hand rises, cupping his cheek. He freezes.

_This touch… what is it? It’s so gentle. It’s so soft, and warm, and tender. It’s loving. Why am I enjoying it?_

You lean up, coaxing his head to the side and down. You exhale shakily. “You’re bleeding. We need to get you looked at.”

He yanks his head back, confusion causing him to round on you, exclaiming, “___, I hit the back of my head, but you hit the front of yours! You’re bleeding as well!” He moves your hair back, allowing him to see where you’ve cut your head against the wood, a small gash on the upper right-hand side of your forehead. “Come. Let us go to the infirmary.”

He takes your hand mindlessly, wrapping yours in his and clinging on tightly. He isn’t even thinking about pursuing the students, since he knows they’re being chased by the librarian. He just wants to get you safe, secured and looked at.

You let him tug you to your feet, swaying slightly. You groan again, other hand pressing against your forehead. “Albert, it’s four o’clock. I’m pretty sure the infirmary staff will have gone home by now.” You follow behind him but squeeze his hand, suggesting, “Let’s just go back to Robert’s dorm.”

He’s reluctant, but he supposes it’s better than nothing. He nods, changing route and taking the shortest way back to Robert’s dorm. His eyes skitter back to you every few seconds, checking that you’re still with him, and that you’re keeping up. You seem to be, albeit you definitely might have concussion, with the way you’re walking much slower than him and your balance is off.

He scowls. He’s starting to feel the rage now.

_How dare they hurt her. How dare they think they have the right to cause her pain – as if anyone would ever have that right. How dare they think themselves about her and as if they have valid reason to target her. They’re scum, every last one of them. Once I know she’s alright, I’ll ensure that they’re punished severely._

You both arrive at Robert’s dorm, blood now dripping down the side of your face. He realises when he knocks on the door that there’s blood trailing down his neck from the back of his own head, and that’s how you must have realised he was hurt. He pushes back his hesitance upon seeing you swaying again, sweeping you up and into his arms, cradling you against him in the princess carry.

The door is opened by Robert after a few seconds, but Albert doesn’t remotely look at him. He rushes inside, urging, “Let me in. Get a medical kit.”

Robert moves aside immediately, eyes wide. He rushes to get the medical kit from the bathroom as Albert moves into the room.

As soon as the boys see you in his arms, bleeding, and the blood running down his neck, chaos erupts.

There’s shouts from all of them, and they rush over to you, firing questions at Albert. He ignores them all, shielding you from their reaching hands to walk to the couch, which is now empty. He lays you down on it, inspecting your cut while you groan and hold your head. His own skull throbs, and he tips to the side for a brief second, balance shifting.

Immediately, hands are on him, steadying him, before he’s pulled back and away from you.

Panic cuts through the pain.

_Don’t take her away from me._

He shoves at the boys trying to move him away, snapping, “Don’t touch me. I’m fine.”

Byron’s voice sounds next to him, low and serious, almost commanding. “Albert, she’s safe. She’s with us; we need to treat both of you, and find out what happened, but she needs some space, and so do you. Come and sit on the other couch so we can do that. She’s not going anywhere.”

He doesn’t want to leave you, but he can’t say no to Byron. He can’t do it. Frustration wells up in him, and his vision blurs with tears as he allows Byron to stand him up and move him to the other couch.

“I- I don’t- I don’t understand.” He’s sat down, and then Byron, Nico and Alyn are there, tipping his head forward to identify the source of the blood. He must have a concussion himself, because his next words can’t possibly be those of Albert himself. “I’m sorry. I failed- I didn’t… I didn’t protect her. I should have stopped them. She couldn’t even move…”

He trails off, guilt swallowing him whole. Byron hushes him, and then something is wiping at the base of his skull, right in the centre of the ache. It stings, but he doesn’t care. “Albert, it’s alright. Don’t speak – just give yourself time to calm down.”

He does as he’s told. Across the room, in contrast to Albert, who’s close to breaking down shockingly quickly, you’re coming around. Giles and Robert have cleaned the blood from your face and the cut, and are now inspecting it, quite certain that it will need to be stitched to prevent scarring. You swat their hands away, ears ringing from the noise of them talking over each other, and try to sit up.

Immediately, you’re pushed back down, Leo and Giles advising you to keep yourself flat to stop your blood pressure from fluctuating all of a sudden. You just roll your eyes, sighing, before you wince at the bright sunlight coming in through the window.

“Guys.” They don’t answer, too busy talking to each other to concentrate on you. You frown, eyes sharpening. “Guys.” Still nothing. Your patience, already thin from pain and sluggish thought process, snaps like a twig.

“Oi, you lot! Everyone do me a favour, please, and be quiet! Listen to me!”

It’s very, very rare that you shout at the boys. As such, when you do, it never fails to silence them.

With it now quiet, you brush off their hands once more, forcing yourself upright. You grip the back of the couch when your head spins, then find the medical kit on the floor next to you and reach down into it. Producing a wad of gauze, you press it to your forehead, then swing your legs around and shuffle to the edge of the couch. “Let me up. I’m fine; I want to make sure Albert’s okay.”

Despite their protests and attempts to drag you back, you manage to wriggle through, then hurry over to Albert. He’s close to breaking point, you see, and you immediately understand why. You heard him before. You know what’s making him like this.

As Nico is cleaning his wound, you kneel down on the floor in front of him, temporarily putting the gauze down. His hands are on his face, so you cup your own around them, murmuring to him softly.

“Albert, if you so much as attempt to blame yourself for this, I’m going to be upset with you. You’re not to blame. Those students are; you did nothing but attempt to help me. You were watching out for me that whole time, and were looking for the students until you needed to help me get the book. You’re not to blame, okay?”

You press your lips to his hair, whispering, “Thank you. You never stopped protecting me. I’m so grateful for that, Albert. You got me up when I could barely even think, because of those students, and made sure I got here safely. You didn’t fail anyone.”

Your words get through to him. The guilt is still there, but the logic you provide him with rids the emotion of weight. He’s remains where he is, as do you, until he can calm himself and settle down, still hiding his face.

When he feels alright to move, you take his hand, taking him through the room even as the others shout at you to stop. You escort him to the dorm’s infirmary instead, where there’s still a nurse on duty, and get the both of you looked at with almost eerie, unnatural composure and control. As he’s stitched up, you stay with him. As you’re stitched up, he stays with you. When you’re both done, you hug him to you, rubbing his back soothingly. He hugs you in return, voluntarily, for the first time, embracing your head against his chest.

He needs you.

As a sensation sweeps over him, so strong it almost winds him, it becomes very, very clear to him that something is wrong.

_Things are changing. My feelings for her are not what they used to be. It’s like the way I feel about Byron, but somehow even more intense. It’s everything I feel for him, amplified over and over again. I’ve never lost my composure like this for anyone else. I’ve never been so shaken by seeing anyone else get hurt._

He trembles around you. He can’t stop it.

_But just what do I feel for her now, then?_

**♡♔♡**

The students responsible for hurting you both are suspended pending isolation within a day of the incident. Somehow, it’s still not enough for Albert, but he forces such thoughts back for the sake of his sanity.

The day after it happens, the group is down in the atrium, the college students’ social hub and space for having dinner. Because of the frees they have, Albert, Byron, Giles, Robert and Sid are all already there when lunch rolls around, all of them to some degree irked or inconvenienced by the sudden change to the rows of seats in there.

You see, there aren’t any tables in the atrium. Instead, there are simply cushioned chairs, arranged in rows that are back-to-back. Usually, this is sufficient for holding the entire college population, but at the moment, it now is not.

Why? Because the Christmas play is going on, and it’s being shown in the atrium after the drama students expressed their frustration at the awful lighting in the drama hall.

As such, there’s now a big-ass stage in the middle of the atrium, and more than half of the seats have been removed to cater for its presence.

Albert scowls. “This is ridiculous.”

Ridiculous, meaning that, because of the lack of chairs, some of the students have now had to sit on the floor because there are no seats.

Others, however, have _elected to sit in other students’ laps_.

Albert is mortified at such a public display of affection and something he considers intimacy, but even Byron seems to be sympathetic to the students.

“It can’t be helped, Al. Other students have said even the library is full, and the classrooms will no doubt stay full as well now that this has happened. We’ll just have to take it as it comes, until the play is over and the chairs are returned.” He rationalises, studying the many students perched on each other’s knees or lying across their laps.

There’s boys sitting on girls, girls sitting on boys, boys sitting on boys, girls sitting on girls… personally, he finds the level of comfort and contentment amongst the students quite refreshing. It’s nice that your message has seemingly gotten out, and that the students are taking platonic relationships in their stride. Years ago, such a thing would never have happened here.

Albert makes a sound of acknowledgement, but he still feels very much uncomfortable and conflicted.

After all, they still have _five_ members of their group to arrive, they being in lessons at the moment. There aren’t any seats left at all; where are they going to sit? The floor?

Sid snickers. “I dibs having ___ on my knee when she gets out of Spanish.”

That earns glares and glowers from the other four males, albeit Albert’s is out of sudden anger that he’d speak so casually of you, as opposed to the full-on jealousy of the other boys. He doesn’t know that, though.

“Sid,” Giles snaps. “Watch your tongue.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “What did I do? They’re all gonna have to sit on our laps, unless you’re planning on putting them on the floor. All I’m doing is saying I get ___ because I called dibs first.”

Robert’s expression becomes mildly hostile. He’s still a tad sensitive, considering that it’s been two days since his parents died, one since he realised he’s in love with you, and he’s only there because he hasn’t yet been contacted by the authorities concerning his parents’ deaths. He isn’t even going to any lessons, and has his casual clothes on for once, something quite a few of the other students have been practically drooling over all day. “She will sit wherever she wants, and with whomever she is comfortable. She may choose to sit on the floor, and if she does, you have no right to oppose her.”

Albert sighs inwardly, relieved.

_Thank God for Robert._

Sid just drops his head back against the seat, groaning, “You’re all so stiff. Loosen up a bit and learn to take a joke. Geez.”

Soon after, lessons finish, and you appear at the stairs with Alyn, Leo, Louis and Nico. You all seem taken aback by the atrium, having not seen it yet, and the baffled expressions only strengthen when you see the students sitting on each other’s laps.

Leo bursts into laughter. “This is great.” He turns to Alyn, hooking an arm around his neck and leaning in to purr, “Little brother, are you going to let me sit on your knee?”

Within a second, Alyn’s fist has slammed into Leo’s abdomen, and he folds over his stomach, gasping for breath. As he collapses to his knees, you patting his back but unfortunately used to it, Alyn glowers at the stage. “Let me guess. This isn’t a one-day thing.”

Byron shakes his head. “It’s more akin to a two-and-a-half-week thing.”

Alyn’s face pales. He glances at the floor, but there’s barely any space between the chairs to sit anyway. He swallows.

Sid reaches out to you. “C’mere, ___; you can sit on my knee.”

Instantly, taking away your chance to even breathe before it happens, Giles and Robert take your wrists, tugging you back and closer to them. Giles sends Sid a glare. “You can hardly be trusted.”

Nico giggles, dancing around to be behind Louis. He playfully shoves him forward, in Sid’s direction, while he chirps, “Here, take Louis instead!”

Both Sid and Louis look like they’re about to be sick, responding in sync, “No way.”

Byron sighs. “Logically, those who are the tallest and heaviest should be the ones with others on their knees, since those lighter and smaller will be less likely to cause the former’s legs to go numb and will be more comfortable to hold.”

Leo straightens up slowly from his hunch, coughing and looking significantly pale with pain. “There’s ten of us. The tallest, at least, are Sid, Giles, Robert, Albert and then either Byron, me or Alyn. Byron’s already sat down, though, so he may as well be the last one.”

Byron nods. “That makes sense. So, the rest of you, meaning ___, Nico, Louis, Alyn and Leo, are the ones who will sit on our laps. Any objections?”

Albert’s heart is ready to explode.

_Objections? I don’t have any agreement to this whatsoever!_

Leo sighs. “Nope. I can handle it.”

Alyn scoffs. “I might take the floor.”

Louis nods. “Me too.”

You shake your head. “I don’t mind.”

Nico does the same. “Nope! I’m fine with it!” He bounces over to Byron, almost singing, “Although, I’d prefer to sit on your knee, as opposed to Albert’s. He’s throw me off him if I tried.”

Byron smiles amusedly, nodding. “I have no issue with that.”

Nico beams. “Yay!” He sits down on Byron’s lap after the latter sits up straight, crossing his knees atop his brother.

One down. Albert swallows hard.

Leo sends Giles a smirk. “Hey, buddy.”

Giles rolls his eyes, but a smirk of his own is forming. “Fine. Come here.”

Leo winks at him, walking over and dropping onto Giles’ knee. “Thank you, Mr. Student Council President.”

Giles raises an eyebrow. “This is why you’re vice president.”

You laugh at Leo’s offended look, giggling into your hand. You, Alyn and Louis are left standing, and Sid, Albert and Robert are left sitting down.

Alyn sends Sid a glare, then Albert, before muttering, “I am not sitting on you two.”

Sid gives him the glare back, along with the middle finger. “Trust me, you’re not welcome. My lap has standards.”

Albert glowers. “It was never an option.”

Well then, that’s decided. Robert sends Alyn a cool smile. “I suppose you’re stuck with me, then. Apologies.”

Alyn’s cheeks tint slightly, but he shuffles over to Robert, mumbling, “Geez. You’re probably the sanest one here. It’s fine.” That earns a laugh from Robert as Alyn sits down, blushing furiously.

You and Louis. Sid and Albert.

You glance up at the blond, who looks completely terrified. “Louis? It’s either Sid or Albert. Where do you want to sit?”

He gives you a pleading look. “I’d really rather sit on the floor.”

Alyn tuts. “Louis, look. None of us,” He cuts a sarcastic look at Nico and Leo, rolling his eyes. “Okay, most of us aren’t ecstatic about this. Put it this way; if you feel like you’re dying right now, I’m pretty sure Albert is as well. Look at him.”

Everyone looks at Albert. He’s blushing again, and he glares at Alyn with a fiery hatred in his eyes. “Shut it, Crawford!”

Leo chuckles. “Louis, what Alyn failed to say is that Albert is even worse at handling this sort of stuff than you are, and we’re pretty sure Sid will just make things ten times worse if he gets ___ because he’s predictably like that,”

Sid slaps Leo over the back of the head, getting a sharp smack over his own by Giles, holding onto Leo with his other hand. Leo continues, rubbing his head. “So, would you please sit with Sid? Height-wise, as well, it’s more logical for you to do that, since Sid’s taller and you’re taller than ___.”

You blink at their intricate assessment of the situation, impressed. However, you still think Louis should be able to choose freely, so you lightly brush your fingers over his palm, murmuring, “It’s up to you, Louis. Whoever you’re most comfortable with, choose.”

He frowns deeply, mumbling so quietly that only you can hear, “The thought of sitting on Sid makes me feel sick, but I think Albert might kill me if I sit on him. Especially since he looks ready to explode like an overgrown tomato.” You have to stifle a laugh at that, nodding. He sighs deeply, moving toward Sid.

When he reaches the scowling, taller male, though, he suddenly slams his bag down onto his lap, hard enough to make Sid howl in pain and hunch over. Louis shoves him back, sitting on top of his bag and muttering, “I refuse to touch you.”

And, that leaves you with Albert.

You glance at him, tilting your head. “Are you okay with this? Honestly, I can sit on the floor; I don’t mind. I’m small enough to fit, so don’t worry. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Albert is struggling to respond. His mind is in absolute chaos.

It’s not like he doesn’t _want_ to have you on his knee. The problem is that he’ll enjoy it too much, and he’ll be blushing like mad, and he won’t know where to put his hands or look or what to do if you lean back against him…

Your smile has been growing every second that he’s shrunk back into his chair, blushing furiously. He’s making very little sense, sentences broken with the extreme embarrassment and pressure. “I- er- I… ah… um…”

Finally, you chuckle quietly, nodding. “Yeah, I think he’s going to completely frazzle out if any more blood rushes to his head. I don’t want him to die.” Seeing the boys’ confused or concerned looks, you shake your head, then crouch down to move Leo and Robert’s bags under the chairs.

Finally, causing the boys to stare at you in amazed, simultaneously horrified bafflement, you kneel down on the floor between Albert and Byron, as calm and collected as always.

Albert is now overtaken by guilt.

_She can’t just sit on the floor! She’ll get her uniform dirty, and it’ll be uncomfortable, and she could hurt her knees! It’s not sanitary, and it makes us look like we’ve forced her to sit on the floor. God, why does this have to happen?_

Albert’s heart aches again. He can’t do it. He can’t leave you there.

Before his brain catches up with it, his body has made a decision. He leans forward, practically crimson by this point, before he gently takes hold of your arm. Ignoring your inquisitive look, he tugs you to your feet, then over to him.

Swallowing back his apprehension, he coaxes you down, onto his lap. You stiffen in surprise, settled atop his thighs. “Albert-”

Nico practically squeals with delight, cheering, “Aw, Al! That was so cute! You’re blushing so hard right now!”

Albert scowls, glowering at Nico vehemently. “Be quiet!”

His hands are fisted at his sides. He doesn’t know what to do with them. He glimpses around the room, trying to see what the normal behaviour for this is.

Many people have their hands on the hips of the person they’re holding. This is true many of the other students, as well as Robert with Alyn. Some have their arms wrapped around the other’s lower torso or waist, as Byron does with Nico, and Giles with Leo.

Sid has his arms crossed. He’s not touching Louis.

Most of the others also have the other person leant back against their chest, so that they don’t have to strain to sit up, and the one on the chair can see over their shoulder.

_But it’s so intimate. It’s hardly appropriate. I couldn’t possibly…_

His heart is pounding, so hard and so fast, he can barely breathe.

_Get over it. You’re just making this more awkward for her, and probably humiliating her by being so unwilling._

That’s a much worse prospect than leaning you back. He pushes through the hesitation and embarrassment, very cautiously taking hold of your hips, then shifting you back to lean against his chest. He uses your shoulder to hide his face as much as he can, shielding it from view, before he very gingerly loops his arms around your pelvis.

You’ve been very still while he’s been doing this, and have actually been making him more tense as a result, thinking you’re uncomfortable. Now, you relax, muscles losing their own tension. You settle back against him, silently communicating that you’re okay and that he’s not making you uncomfortable. He manages to calm himself down once he feels this, albeit slowly, and very much gradually.

The others have watched this with mixed expressions. While none of them want to see you in another person’s arms like this, this confirms their suspicions. This guarantees what they know.

As Albert eventually drops his face against your hair, using it to hide himself, his expression changes. It shifts, becoming more content, more comfortable and relaxed. He becomes surer of himself as time passes, tightening his arms around your waist, hugging you rather than just mimicking the position everyone else is in. He’s never done something so intimate in front of other people before, let alone a whole atrium of students.

He wants this. He wants your soft, warm, familiar form in his arms. He wants you close, safe and protected in his grasp. He realises that this makes him happy. This melts away the ache in his heart, replacing it with that beautiful, unbearably wonderful melting inside him, joy erupting within him like molten rock. He wants it so badly.

But he won’t admit it. He won’t admit to what this is.

Many of the other students squeal and giggle over your group, screaming and fussing about all of you being adorable. Many of them shout about how cute you all are, some tease Louis and Sid, even shipping them together. Many of them coo over Byron being so affectionate with Nico.

Even as they fawn over Albert, finally breaking out of his shell and hiding behind you the way he is, he doesn’t let go. He just buries his face in your hair, breathing in your scent, and forgets about the rest of the world while he savours having you in his arms.

The boys know it for certain. They’re right.

Albert, even if he doesn’t know it, is hopelessly, utterly in love with you.

**♡♔♡**

That night, the boys go to Albert, Byron and Nico’s dorms after college.

When they arrive, Albert is immediately confused; it’s very rare that everyone except you is brought together, no less in their dorm.

Once everyone’s sat down, Byron starts to explain to Albert what’s going on.

“Al, we need to discuss something with you; something arguably more important than anything we have to be concerned about right now.” Albert blinks, not expecting such a serious statement. He says nothing. “I’m going to tell you this simply; what you hear tonight cannot, under any circumstances, be repeated to or discussed by anyone outside of us nine. You cannot breathe a word of what is said to anyone. Do you understand?”

Albert nods hesitantly. “Of course.”

Byron returns the nod. “I need you to approach this calmly. Try to have an open mind, alright?” Albert nods once more, now beginning to feel nervous and uneasy. Byron exhales slowly. “To start with, all of us – every single one – have broken our promise to ___.”

Albert blinks. The promise?

It hits him all of a sudden. _That_ promise. _That_ oath.

They’re in love with you.

Somehow, it almost doesn’t surprise him. It’s a shock to hear it like that, but he’s seen the way they are with you. He’s heard them snap at each other and bite when someone’s gotten too close. He always noticed it, but he put it down to childish possession and fondness, never romance.

His mouth moves, but no words come out. It’s taking time to wrap his head around this. “All of you?”

Byron nods. “Yes.”

Albert immediately turns to Nico. “Even the brat?”

Nico frowns, giving Albert a kick in the shin. “Yes, excuse you!”

Albert scowls. “It’s not unreasonable for me to be surprised, considering you act like an infant all of the time!”

Nico lunges forward, at Albert. Robert, sat next to him, catches him around the waist, dragging him back and constricting his middle hard enough to draw a slightly pained gasp from him. Byron speaks again, tone very much unamused. “Nico, control yourself. Now is not the time to be bickering.”

Nico chokes on his own protest, squirming in Robert’s grip. Byron now looks back to Albert. “Calm yourself. All of us are in love with her. That is undisputable and irrefutable.” He nods to Robert. “Let him go. He won’t do it again.”

Robert releases Nico, who groans, hunching over in his place on the couch. Byron shakes his head. “Albert, we tell you this because something is coming. We have a plan in place, a solution to our problem. We are all in love with her and we cannot keep that a secret forever.”

The gears turn sluggishly in Albert’s head. “You’re… going to tell her?”

Pain sears through his chest. He grunts, hand flying up to his hand automatically.

_Why now? Why this, again? Why must this happen every time she’s in my thoughts?_

Byron places his hands on Albert’s shoulders. “Albert, I want you to tell me exactly how you feel about ___. I need you to be entirely honest with me and tell me everything you think, every sensation you get, when you’re with her. Even when you’re not with her. When you think about her, when someone speaks of her, when you’re close to her, and when someone else is. I need you to do this for me. Please, Albert.”

_But I don’t want to. It scares me. I’m terrified of the truth that is my emotions._

He hesitates. Louis stands up, coming to kneel next to him and place a very gentle hand on his arm. “Albert, I know it’s hard. It was almost impossible for me, too, to say what I felt. It hurts. I know that. But you need to say it, for your sake, and ours, but also hers as well. If we can’t work with you for this, she’s going to hurt a lot more than us. Please try. Please, do your best. Help us.”

_They’ve all been through this. They all know how it feels._

He glances up, eyes flitting to every single face in the room.

_For once, they’re all identical._

Understanding. Pain. Discomfort. Frustration. Sorrow. Sympathy. Empathy, even.

_They’re just the same as me._

He closes his eyes, clutching at his shirt when he starts to speak and the ache worsens. “I… my heart aches. If I’m not with her, it hurts. When others talk about her, it hurts as well. When I’m with her, the ache disappears, and I… I…” The words become trapped in his throat. Byron rubs his shoulder, and Louis his arm, encouraging him until he can get them out.

“I feel happy when I’m with her. I feel warm, and relaxed. I’m never as happy away from her as I am when I’m beside her. When she’s close, when you’ve all made me hug her, or when I had her on my lap today…” He’s blushing again. He swallows hard. “It felt right. I enjoyed having her in my arms.”

He remembers the promise he made to you.

_“We’ll always be just friends. Even when people make stupid assumptions and say things because they’re idiots and can’t handle this concept, we’ll stick together. We’ll show them that a group like this can work, without any complexity. We’re friends. That’s it.”_

“But this is all platonic. It’s just friendly. I swore that I would never develop any complex feelings for her. I made an oath. This is just friendship; it’s what she’s always worked for and spoken about.”

He’s trying to convince himself of the words, but he’s spinning lies like a spider spins silk. He knows better. He’s inexperienced, innocent and naïve, but he’s not stupid. He’s just trying to defend himself from the guilt he knows is coming for him.

Byron knows that too. They all do.

“Al,” Byron murmurs. He never moves his gaze from his brother’s face, even as the latter stares down at his hands. “You’re not wrong. You can be platonic with someone like this, like we always have been.” He squeezes his shoulder, hard enough for Albert to finally look him in the eye. “But there comes a point when it’s not that anymore, and you’ve reached that point. When your heart aches from being away from her, that’s beyond platonic. When you enjoy being with her as much as you do, that’s more. That’s romance, Al.”

There’s fear in Albert’s eyes. There’s none in Byron’s. “That’s love. You are in love with her, Al.”

He knows it’s true. God, he knows it, of course he does. Deep in his heart, he’s already accepted it. It’s just his mind that’s rejected the idea for so long, adamant that he was stronger than that. Adamant that he wouldn’t break the one promise he made to you, and that he wouldn’t betray your trust. He didn’t want to fail the only real constant he’s had in his life.

Now, he has, and the weight of that failure hits him hard.

He drops his face into his hands, unsure of what to do. He’s terrified. How could he possibly face you, possibly stay with the group, if he’s like this now? Knowing that he’s in love with you, how can he act like he always has?

The others are trying to reassure him, to tell him that they have a plan, but he’s not listening. He shuts them out, drowning out the source of his pain, while he thinks.

_Just ignore it._

His mind tells him the same thing Gerald Wagner told him all that time ago.

_Suppress it._

He breathes through his nose. In, out, in, out. Rhythm. Forward, backward. Again, and again.

_You have one job, and that is to protect Byron and Nico. Your emotions have no place here._

He counts in his mind. One, two, three, four. Up and up, he keeps counting. He doesn’t stop until he reaches two hundred.

_You don’t have the right to feel. If your heart tries to, silence it._

His eyes open. They’re empty.

_You’re only here for them. You don’t matter._

**♡♔♡**

After that, Albert dismisses, ignores, or refuses to acknowledge anything said to him about his feelings for you. He buries them deep, forcing them back, just like he always has.

It never stops the aching, not once. He accepts it as adequate punishment for failing you.

The boys try, and they really do try hard, to make him open up again. They go through stages of panic, frustration, concern, hopeless, and then cycle around again. Eventually, they know they have to put the plan into practice.

They’re going to take you to Stein. They’re going to go all-out, take you to Byron’s house, push their boundaries more than ever before, and pray for two things.

First, for the exposure to you to break through Albert’s glass walls.

Second, for you to fall in love with them.

Albert acts normal, almost amazingly so, the whole time. He’s silenced his emotions so masterfully, even you don’t notice any difference in him.

But it all falls apart, that perfect mask crumbles, in the pool.

Albert’s shoved in by Nico, of course, and then pursues him like a shark afterward. They all play for a while, you being lifted and thrown by Byron and the others having splashing wars, until finally Sid suggests they play chicken. He hoists you up and onto his shoulders, holding your thighs with casual confidence. Albert sees it, and the pain erupts once more, but he ignores it like he always does. He forces it down, letting it torment his subconscious, while his conscious mind remains empty and ready to play the game.

He and Nico lose the first round, which irritates him. Byron and Louis lose theirs, further irking him.

But then he’s going up against you and Sid, and somehow, he doesn’t even know if he wants to win.

_If we win, she’ll be sad. I don’t want to upset her._

You and Nico go at each other, your hits much more calculated and effective than his. He’s already making it hard for Albert to stay on his feet, but it’s even harder when he’s stood before you, unable to take his eyes off you.

_She’s so beautiful._

The thought comes before he can stop it.

In the next second, Nico loses his balance, tipping back. Albert expects him to go down, but he grabs your arm on the way, dragging you forward. You slip from Sid’s shoulders, crashing into the water before Albert. Just before he tips back with Nico, the pale-haired boy grunts out one thing in Albert’s ear.

“Look at her.”

Albert goes under. He floats down, you in front of him. He can see perfectly because of his goggles, and he does what Nico says, focusing in on your floating body.

Albert is momentarily captivated by you. He’s almost rendered breathless even with oxygen in him by your hair, as it floats around you like a halo, surrounded by the cerulean blue, eyes surprised by the loss but still full of life. The way you move so elegantly, limbs almost caressing the water while you support yourself there, entrances him. The beaming smile that graces your lips sends his mind whirling.

_I don’t want to ignore her anymore. I don’t want Nico touching her. I want her close to me again._

Craving your touch so much, he swims forward, reaching out to take your arm, the one Nico is holding. He levels Albert with an almost respectful, even stare, nodding calmly. He lets go of you, kicking up to the surface.

_He’s letting me have her. He’s letting me have these few seconds with her. I shouldn’t want them, but I do._

He tugs you into his arms, curling an arm around your waist and another around your upper back. Your legs coil around his own middle, arms looping around his neck, so that you can support your weight against him. He likes the feeling of it, he decides, as he feels your smaller body held against his, supported by him. He kicks up, bringing the two of you to the surface.

He heaves in a much-needed breath, and you do the same, attached to him like a koala. For a second, he doesn’t even feel embarrassed but rather happy, with your arms around his neck and legs around his hips. Your warmth spreads into him, radiating from your body, even from your fingers and neck. It soothes him, calms him. He can feel your heartbeat, slightly quicker than normal, against his chest, and the feeling sends his own heart into a frenzy. 

For a long time now, he’s avoided letting you get close like this. He’s tried to forget about his feelings for you, letting the others do it instead. But now, stood like this, he doesn’t want to let you go. 

_I love her._

The words are simple, but they hurt so much.

He rests his chin on your shoulder, shifting his hands. He cradles your head against his own shoulder, the other hand holding your thigh, keeping you safe and secure against him.

_I love you._

His eyes burn with tears. He grips you harder, feeling his last line of defence crumbling down.

_I can’t ignore it anymore. I want her so much. It’s too painful to hide this anymore._

The others have realised what’s happening by this point, and immediately, they start to move. Robert, the closest to Albert, wades over as swiftly as possible, detaching you from Albert and cradling you in his own arms. He starts to walk away, taking you toward the other end of the pool. Albert’s tears pour out, into his goggles. He reaches up, ripping them off with a harsh, frustrated tug. Byron is in front of him, and he takes his shoulders, starting to whisper to him.

“Albert, let’s go to the big room. We can talk there. Let’s sort this out, now. You know what you need to do.”

_Yes._

He lets Byron, Sid and Nico guide him out of the pool, once you’re safely in the jacuzzi with the others. Albert is barely aware of what’s going on as they walk him back to the house, then get him to shower, dry off and change into night clothes. He all but zombie-walks into the big room after drying off, where Byron, Nico and Sid are waiting, apparently showered and dried themselves, now in more comfortable clothes. He walks over to the large bed he practically spent his childhood sleeping in, eyes downcast, moist and vulnerable and frightened.

“Al,” Byron utters, standing up. He holds his hand out. “Come here.”

It’s time. It’s finally time for Albert to break down.

He takes Byron’s hand, letting his brother pull him into a tight, emotional hug. The sobs start to choke him up, getting stuck in his throat. He grips Byron’s shirt, crying for the first time _properly_ in his whole life. His wails are muffled by Byron’s shoulder, and the latter rubs his back, eyes closed. Nico wraps his arms around Albert’s middle, dropping his head against the space between his shoulder blades. Sid watches on, briefly nodding to Albert when he opens his eyes.

It only makes him cry harder.

It goes on for a long, long time, everything he’s pushed down for years finally emerging from his inner prison. All the neglect, all the times he’s paid no heed to his own feelings and put Byron and Nico first, all come rushing back, creating a torrent of tears that never seems to stop.

But it’s strange, because, even though it feels awful, it also feels good.

He can barely fathom it, but you were right. As his mind clears and his heart is ridded of the weight it’s been burdened with all his life, it almost feels pleasant. It’s genuinely like a pressure he hadn’t known existed has dispersed, leaving him lighter, stronger, and renewed. It’s baffling.

_She was always thinking about me. All those times, when she told me that it’s okay to cry when I was frustrated or stressed, she wasn’t being sarcastic. She wasn’t being patronising. She was trying to help me._

“She…” He gasps out, words muffled by Byron’s shirt. “She was… actually… right…”

Byron stills. “About what?”

Albert releases a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob, wailing, “She said crying… is good for us.”

Byron smiles, a long, slow, real smile. Nico grins. Sid smirks.

“Yes,” Byron whispers, shaking his head with disbelief. “She always knows. She’s always right.”

When Albert finally settles, he’s ready to listen, at long, long last. He knows the plan, and now, he just needs to fully integrate himself into it. He’s ready to try, even if it’s not optimal. He’s willing to attempt this, if there’s a chance that he’ll have you to himself even just a little bit. He’ll do it, for the sake of his heart. It deserves to be happy. It deserves to belong to you, after years of loneliness.

He’s ready to love. And when rests his head on your lap the next day, and whispers real, honest words from his heart when he lies next to you the next night, hand held in yours, he knows that he wants it. He wants his princess, and he’ll do anything to make that dream come true.

**♡♔♡**


End file.
